Rick's World of the Supernatural
by Meowser Clancy
Summary: He thinks she's nuts, and possibly a criminal. She thinks he's the rudest man she's ever met...but she's desperate, so what's a ghost whisperer to do? AU. Rick/Melinda. Rating is subject to change.
1. Chapter One

This is **extremely** AU, but I haven't yet decided to what exact bounds. Melinda is not married, but does Jim exist? I'm not sure, I haven't decided yet.

Please keep in mind that I am only on season 2, episode 11. Though it won't really matter, since this is AU but I wanted to put it out there that I don't yet know the extent of Melinda and Rick's relationship.

Oh, and I might change the title.

* * *

When Professor Rick Payne got back from lunch, he unlocked his door as usual, opened it and...there she was, sitting on his desk.

He stopped stock still, not believing what he saw.

"I locked my office," he blurted, dropping his briefcase.

Her legs were swinging as she swiveled to look at him and he couldn't help but take an extra look at them. Slim and shapely, and they went up, up to where they were unfortunately covered by an ankle length skirt.

"It wasn't locked," she stated immediately, scooting off of his desk. "But I'm sorry for barging in."

"Who are you?"

"I have some questions for you," she said. "My name is Melinda Gordon."

"Good for you," he mocked. "What the hell are you doing in my office, and yes, I did lock it."

"It wasn't locked," she repeated. "But I apologized."

"I don't care if you apologized, you broke in," he insisted, striding forward to meet her.

She cocked her head. "That didn't happen," she said. "I asked a student and he said you were probably out to lunch. So I went inside to wait, because the door was both _unlocked_ and wide open."

"I don't believe this," he said.

"Listen, I think I came at a bad time," Melinda said. "Again, Professor Payne, I apologize. I'll come back some other time."

He swung around to watch her go, admiring the way her full hips swayed as she walked. "That is one good looking woman," he muttered, ruffling his hair in frustration before going to his desk and going over the contents. "Papers, check. Stapler, check. Phone, check. Well, she didn't steal anything."

Again he looked up at the door from which Melinda had entered and departed. "There's no way I didn't lock that door," he hissed to himself, going to check the lock. He grabbed his keys and stepped outside of his office to lock the door, then he tested the knob. "And it's holding."

Shaking his head he unlocked the door and stormed back inside his office, tripping over the briefcase he'd dropped when he first saw Melinda.

And that was when he saw it. A business card, proclaiming "Melinda Gordon, Same As It Never Was Antiques."

She did say that she was going to return. And yet...he wasn't the type of man to take chances. He needed answers, he needed them soon and he wasn't going to wait around for her to return. If she even did. Maybe she had been in the middle of a sting operation and he'd simply interrupted her; maybe she was planning on never coming back. He'd let her off too easily, he knew it.

"She must not be a pro," he muttered, picking up his briefcase and pulling out the student papers inside it. "Only an idiot would leave their business card at the scene."

He settled into his chair in his usual position: leaned back, feet up. Red pen in hand, he started to read the essay on top.

But his gaze returned to the door and he growled. "Keep your mind on your work, Payne. She'll keep until tonight."

* * *

A figure stood in the glass doorway of the antique shop and a hand swung the sign from Open to Closed just as he approached. Diving forward he banged on the door and it swung open, revealing a surprised Melinda Gordon.

Thank god.

"Oh, Professor Payne!" She exclaimed, stepping back to let him in. "You found my card, good."

"What did you want?" He asked, a bit thrown from her statement. "Why did you come to my office, issue of breaking and entering set aside for just this moment?"

"I told you, I had some questions," she stated simply, moving past him to lock the door to the shop. "Sorry, I just want to make sure that no customers interrupt us. Sometimes people ignore the sign on the door if there's someone still in the shop."

"Yeah," he said sarcastically. "And sometimes people enter other people's offices without being told they could."

"The door was open," she said calmly, passing him again to lead him to a couple of antique chairs. "And I needed help."

"I need a lot of help, too, more than you can imagine, but I don't come to your office and break in, do I?" He cut himself off, again running a hand through his hair. "You know what, I'll try to set that aside for now."

"Thanks," she said dryly. "Want to sit down?"

"Sure," he said and picked the chair closer to him, sitting down more forcefully than usual and Melinda winced. "What?"

"They are antiques, that's all," she said, but sat down in the other chair. "Look, you're supposed to be the expert on the history and beliefs of the occult and the supernatural—"

"As it pertains to contemporary psychology," he said. "If you want something stupid like your dead aunt's will, I'm not going to be much help. And nor would I want to be."

She leaned back in her chair, regarding him with an amusement that made him uncomfortable. "Is it necessary to be this rude?"

He scoffed. "Listen, you're the one who—" Remembering his promise, he changed his words mid-sentence. "Necessary, no. Amusing, always."

She shrugged. "All I know is, you're the go-to guy, and I needed somebody to go to. And your office was open, though I see now that it might be closed."Considering him closely, she raised an eyebrow.

He felt her gaze like a touch as she let it slide over him, from his face to his feet, and the briefcase that rested near them.

"They say you're a genius," she stated, her voice making the words possess an almost seductive tone. He blinked, wondering if she was doing it on purpose.

"Makes me crazy the way they throw the word "genius" around, all right?" He hurried to speak, to break the spell she was putting over him. "Although, coming from you, it does give me a certain tingle."

"Well, god forbid you don't get your tingles," she drawled. "Okay, Professor. My question is simple; and since you came here I'm assuming you are prepared to answer my question."

"Not really," he said. "I came to get answers of my own."

"I'll go first," she said, leaning forward and he wondered at the wisdom of such a motion when she was wearing such a low cut shirt. But hell, he was enjoying the view. "I need you to tell me what a symbol means."

"Well, where's the symbol then?" He asked, throwing up his hands and Melinda stood up and walked to the counter.

"Here it is," she said, returning with a piece of paper. "Keep in mind that I drew it and it may not be as accurate as it should."

He took the paper. "Um...you're right, you have no artistic talent."

"Do you know what it means?" Melinda asked, and it was the first time his rudeness seemed to have really affected her; before now she'd taken all his crap in stride and now there was finally a touch of testiness in her voice.

"Oh, sorry, uh, basically it's a warning. It's a dark motif favored by the Incans, 'Back off or die' being the fundamental message. Who are you really?" He asked, dropping the paper. "Who the hell are you to be on the wrong end of an Incan death threat?"

"Look, I'm really am just kind of a student. There are some things that I know and some things that I'm trying to find out." Melinda, sitting again, leaned to pick up the paper.

"This is not the kind of symbol you come across in everyday life," Rick scolded. "How did you come across it? And don't tell me it appeared to you in a vision."

"I have another sketch," she said, ignoring what he said and standing up again. "That is, if you'd be willing to look at it."

Rick sighed, standing up with her. "Let me take it with me, huh?"

"Whatever you want," she said. "Listen, I really do appreciate your help with this, even it's more harassment than help."

"I was bothering you," he crowed. "Listen, lady, don't break into my office and expect no repercussions next time."

"Well, if it gets me the answers I need, I'll take all the repercussions I can get," Melinda said, handing him the piece of paper and emerging from the behind the counter again, only to lead him to the door. "You have my card. Next time you can give me a call instead."

"What's the matter, you don't like my charming face anymore?" He asked, letting her shove him out and trying not to relish the feel of her hands on his shoulders.

"Go," she said simply and shut the door behind him. The next moment the locked clicked and Rick Payne strolled down the street only to realize that he hadn't gotten any answers out of her.

Shit. But there was always next time.

Next time he wouldn't let her be so evasive.

Next time.


	2. Chapter Two

He really had better things to do than research some obscure sketch from an insane woman, but Rick Payne found himself spending his whole weekend looking for something that matched the second sketch she'd given him.

"Okay, I'm searching for a villain from old-time radio," he muttered, flipping through his research books. His office had become a mess in the past few days of searching, and that was more than enough to make him realize that something was severely wrong with him.

What was it about Melinda Gordon, possible escapee from an insanity ward, that compelled him to do this?

The last book on the second shelf of his bookcase beckoned to him and he got up off the floor to fetch it. His legs were cramping from sitting on the floor for so long so when he took the book he checked the time.

"It must be time to eat," he thought. "Polynesian food. Mm. And I'll take the book with me."

* * *

The waitress didn't look kindly on him taking the book out.

"It's my book, I won't blame you if something gets spilled on it," he protested, when the foreign woman again tried to close it.

"You eat now," she said.

"I read and eat now," he said, snatching the book back. "Goodbye, or you definitely aren't getting a tip. Nada."

She seemed to understand that, at least, and left in a huff to attend to another party at the small restaurant.

Rick turned back to the book and flipped through the pages, absently putting bites of tongue and papaya into his mouth with his left hand.

"Devil worshiping, oh boy," he muttered around a particularly strange mouthful that made him question what he was eating.

He flipped to the next page, his eyes widening as he read.

This was one nasty guy.

And Melinda was involved with this...how?

* * *

"His name was Romano," he told Melinda when she picked up the phone. "And my name is Rick Payne. Sorry, that's a really bad way to answer the phone, isn't it?"

"I'm sorry?" She replied, sounding lost.

"Your second sketch, the old-radio villain," he said, slowing himself down. "His name is Romano."

"I knew it," she said, a note in her voice that he couldn't quite decipher. Was it fear? Excitement?

Satisfaction.

"Listen," she said. "Can I just come over there?"

"Yeah, sure," he said. "I'm unlocking my office right now. What the hell?"

But she had already hung up.

For the second time in a week, Rick Payne found an unwelcome sight when he opened his office door. "What the hell?" He repeated, dropping his cell phone onto his desk and looking around at all the pictures decorating his four walls.

The first one to really catch his eye...

"Another Incan death threat," he muttered, snatching it down. "A goddamn perfect replica of her first sketch, but not hand drawn."

He looked at the sign, remembering the meaning he'd given Melinda. "Back off or die," he repeated, staring at the sketch.

But at this point, was Melinda supposed to back off of whatever _she_ was investigating...

Or was _he_ supposed to back off helping her?

* * *

She came into his office fifteen minutes later, in an alluring white peacoat that seemed to strain at the chest, a place that Rick avoided looking at simply to keep his sanity. She wore some kind of flippy black dress underneath it, and tall black boots.

He found himself hoping she didn't remove the coat; it was hard to concentrate as it was.

"Professor Payne, thank you for calling me," she said, removing her red plaid scarf and sticking out her hand. "And I just want to apologize, again, for how we got off on the wrong foot last time. I really do need the help and I am so grateful to you for doing this."

He took her hand and shook it hesitantly, dropping it again hastily when he found he liked the feel of it too much.

"What did you do to your office?" She asked, looking around with surprise on her face.

"Well, the books part of the mess was me," Rick replied. "But someone else, who I doubt was simply a disgruntled janitor, did the rest. And left me this."

She took the piece of paper and her brow crinkled in concern. "Professor Payne, this is the Incan death threat I sketched."

"Indeed it is," he answered, shoving his hands into his pants pockets.

"But, Professor, does this mean it's directed to you too?" She asked, and the hugeness of her eyes made him take a step back. God, what eyes she had.

Too bad she was probably insane, even with that neat little speech she'd given him.

"Ah, yes, probably, and I should thank you for that," he answered.

Melinda looked horrified. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Professor Payne."

"Oh, please," Rick shot back. "You probably did this yourself. Unless you're going to tell me this all happened because of a supernatural event?"

Melinda, torn, looked at the paper in her hands. "Yes."

"Come on! That's crap!" He said immediately, instantly discounting the notion.

"I should go," Melinda said, and Rick, surprising himself, stopped her.

"Why?"

"Because, as you said, now you've been given an Incan death threat too," she began, looking anywhere but him.

"And, as I said," he began. "That's crap. I don't believe in that stuff. And neither should you. Come here, I found your hat guy."

"Romano," she said, stepping hesitantly back over to him.

He sat in his chair and rifled through his briefcase until he found the book.

"You know, of course, about dark and light spirits?" He prefaced.

She shrugged. "Not as much as I should." She again stepped closer.

"Well, most cultures favor the same motifs. Basically, it's demons, dark entities, shadows, phantoms," he continued. "The relationship between good and evil has always been symbiotic. You can't have one without the other."

"What function do they serve?" Melinda looked around for a chair, but when the only other one was placed behind Rick's desk she settled for crouching down.

He watched her progress for a moment then continued. "Dark spirits and light spirits are linked- at opposite ends, obviously, and the dark spirits are here to create evil, not only create evil but to grow it."

She shifted a bit. "And the, um, light spirits?"

"That's easy," Rick said. "The light spirits make sure that the dead pass on to the other side. The light, heaven, whatever. They're the protectors of the souls."

"Is there any reason why dark spirits hate the light spirits?" Melinda asked. "I mean, besides the good and evil thing."

"Sure," Rick said. "Dark spirits become more powerful depending on how many souls they can take up, and that would be why the dark hate the light spirits so much."

"The light spirits take souls away from them," Melinda said. "And dark spirits, in what other ways can they become powerful?"

Rick flipped through his mind. "Well, uh, there's an East African version where if a dark spirit can take over the soul of a light spirit, that's like triple bonus points right there. By engulfing the soul of a light spirit, the dark spirit becomes invincible."

Melinda flinched, and, since she was crouching next to him, lost her balance and ended up on the floor.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

"Do you have another chair?" She asked accusingly.

"Not really," he said. "And here is your Romano."

"He's not mine," she mumbled, and when he didn't offer his hand to help her up she grabbed onto his chair.

Now she stayed standing, not risking squatting down again.

He moved the book so she could see better over his shoulder. "There's an obscure sect in algeria, sort of a quasi devil worship..." He felt breath on his ear and lost track of what he was saying. Turning, her face was right next to his and he then he really lost track.

"Um. Sort of a quasi devil worshiping group. They use this image as the object of their reverence."

"Really?" Melinda asked, leaning in even closer. He felt her press into his back and didn't dare name which body part it was likely to be.

"I also found another group in Morocco, and there's another one in Portugal," Rick said, and slipped from the chair. Melinda immediately moved forward and took the book, lifting it up to the light to see better.

He headed to his computer. "Come here! You'll want to see this."

Melinda carefully placed the book back on his desk and went around to the other side where his computer was.

"That's Romano!" She exclaimed immediately upon seeing the pictures. "God, that's him. He looks just like..."

Rick stared at her. "That's an American cult leader living in Spain with 115 followers. And he convinced them all to commit themselves to their dark sides. Dark spirits like souls to be angry and toxic but even toxic is an understatement. This guy convinced these people to commit the ultimate dark act..."

He trailed off as Melinda stepped closer, even going so far as to take the mouse from him to enlarge the picture. "Suicide?"

"On a grand scale," Rick said. "He died in 1939 with all of his followers. Please, Melinda, tell me who he looks just like."

"He killed himself with all the others?" Melinda asked, ignoring his question. "Would he have become a dark spirit?"

Rick rolled his eyes. "Melinda, please."

"If they existed," Melinda amended, but he saw the way her eyes flashed with anger at his doubt.

"For the sake of the argument, I'd say that he was a dark spirit long before he died," Rick said. "That is, when dark spirits become stronger they can take over the body of a weak human. So this is just a picture of some loser named Romano with an evil heart and a weak will. But once the spirit got ahold of him all the negative energy from that mass suicide—he was 100 times stronger. And then when he died, he was released back into the ether badder than ever."

"Now what's he doing?" She asked.

"Now... regrouping for a bigger bite. Maybe he's just sucking up soul after soul and building more and more strength until the next human being he takes over he could do some real hurt to the world. And this guy's not gonna stop until he destroys everything that's good."

"You sound like a believer," she said.

"I just study a lot," Rick said. "You absorb some of it, I suppose." He leaned back in his chair and studied her, hunched over his computer.

She straightened. "Thanks for everything," she said. "You've been a big help. I don't think I'll be bothering you again."

"Oh, why not?" He asked.

"You're just too much," she said, heading for the door.

"Wait, do you want your sketches back?" He called, scrambling to get her things together.

"I suppose so," she said, pausing by his door. One of the sketches was on the floor and when he bent down to get it, the first thing he saw when he raised his head was her leg.

She had really nice legs, even if she was short. His gaze traveled up, over the boot and the bare leg between the flippy black dress and then to the white coat covering the black dress.

When he reached Melinda's face, her eyebrow was raised. "Enjoy the view, Professor Payne?"

 _Hell yes._

"I was looking to see if you had any physical manifestations of insanity," he adlibbed.

She flinched again and he got to his feet, handing her the papers slowly.

"Will I see you again?" He asked, fighting to keep his tone rude and make the question sound like an insult.

"Only if I get really desperate," she snapped and left the office in a rush.

Rick raked a hand through his hair. "Let's pray for desperation, then."

* * *

A/N: I am using a ton of text straight from the show, but there are marked differences. One of them is what Rick says when Melinda suggests he's a believer.

Thanks so much for the reviews!


	3. Chapter Three

Rick Payne was not a superstitious man. In his line of work, you would be asking for a nervous breakdown if you were superstitious.

So he wondered why he found himself still thinking about the sketches on his way home a few days later.

Incan death threats, received by himself and by Melinda, were a bit too hard to ignore. Was someone trying to spook him?

Was it just Melinda?

Who knew.

He cursed himself when he realized he hadn't gotten any more answers out of her, but pushed back the feeling. She was out of his life now, and that was how it should be. She was insane and he really didn't need to be thinking about her.

Especially since his ex-wife was waiting on his front lawn. That spelled trouble, in more ways than one.

"Is there something you want, Kate?" He asked, getting out the car and fetching his things before facing her.

As usual, a perpetual scowl was etched on her face upon looking at him. "You haven't paid your alimony this month."

Rick again wondered why the judge had awarded her alimony, since she worked. Part time, but still.

"It simply slipped my mind," he said, and it was true. He'd have normally done it a few days ago but Melinda's visit had turned his life topsy turvy.

"Well, why don't you just write the check now?" Kate asked.

He knew that she hated to ask, but he also knew that as much as she hated to ask, she'd hate not asking and going without even more. Damned woman.

"I'll do that," he drawled and started patting his pockets for his checkbook. Front pocket, side pockets, pants pockets, nothing, nada. No, here was something in his vest pocket.

He withdrew the slip of paper and blinked to see Melinda's name peering up at him. Her card. Why the hell was that still around?

"This isn't funny, Rick," Kate snapped.

"Sorry," he said automatically and the way she startled was comical.

Had he really said the word 'sorry' so rarely as to get a reaction like that?

He found the checkbook in his briefcase and hastily wrote the judge ordered amount. "Here you go, Kate."

"Thank you," Kate said. "I expected this to be much more difficult."

"It really did only slip my mind," Rick said, feeling a need to explain. "I've had a busy couple of days."

"I'm sure," Kate said, her smile fake, but sounding slightly mollified. Or maybe just confused. She walked to her car and pulled away from the curb quickly, and Rick was certain that she was heading straight for the bank.

He tried to feel bitter, but the only sarcasm he could dredge up was the simple thought that he hoped she forgot to endorse it before depositing.

* * *

The night passed slowly. He got through his student's papers and was trying to do some research on psychokinetic energy for a paper he was writing for the school magazine, ( _Your Belief in Poltergeists_ ) and failing.

His mind kept going back to Melinda, and her search for answers that he gave her, but he knew that those answers would only help her larger search. But what the hell was she looking for?

And why did he care?

He had given up on doing research and was contemplating the leftover Chinese food in the refrigerator when his phone rang.

"This is Rick Payne," he answered, not checking the number since so few of his acquaintances had his cell phone number.

"What?"

"Melinda?" He exclaimed. "How did you get this number? And I thought you didn't want any more of my help."

"You may find this hard to believe, Professor Payne, but you gave me this number when you called me using it," Melinda replied and he could hear stress in her voice. "I didn't dial you intentionally, I was trying to reach someone else."

"Then goodbye," Rick said.

"Wait," Melinda said. "What else can you tell me about saving souls from dark spirits? You know, you were saying that Romano was weak willed and everything."

"So your soul needs to be strong," Rick said. "Your light spirit needs to spread love, joy and happiness, blah blah, so that your soul is strong enough to resist Romano."

"Thanks," Melinda replied.

"Are you okay?" Rick blurted before he could stop himself. "You sound distressed, not that I mind, since your voice has gone all hoarse like some women's do when making love."

His answer was a dial tone. "Shouldn't have tacked that on," he muttered.

* * *

The next day when he arrived at his office, someone was waiting outside his door. She wore a white blouse, knee length, fitted brown skirt that Rick barely dared to look at, dark circles underneath her eyes and a mark on her cheek that suggested someone had hit her. Or something. Her coat was over her arms, which were crossed over her chest to further complete the image of desolation.

"Miss Gordon," Rick greeted.

"Hi, Professor Payne," Melinda said. "I'm sorry. What do you know about poltergiests?"

"I know I wouldn't want to meet one," Rick replied, unlocking his door.

She waited for a moment; for his invitation.

"You can come in," he said. "I won't bite...this time."

A half-hearted smile tugged at her lips as he set his briefcase down on his desk. "This doesn't bode well for you, Miss Gordon, considering that you were only going to return if you got desperate."

"I got desperate," Melinda said simply. "And last time you exhausted my patience, and, thereby, my goodwill."

"My wife used to shop there," Rick said. "She said she got great deals on sweaters. Sorry."

"Apology accepted, even if you were apologizing for the wrong thing," Melinda said. He didn't miss the way she startled at his use of the word 'wife' and wasn't surprised when she burst out with, "You're married?"

How to answer that? _I was_ and confirm her rampant thoughts?

Rick shrugged. "Once," he said.

"Did she die or did you two divorce?" Melinda asked.

"Divorce," Rick admitted. Melinda, however, didn't gloat over the fact. Instead her face grew somber.

"I'm sorry," she said. "That can be worse than death."

"Only if there are children involved," Rick said. "And there weren't." _Might as well put it in the open._

Her gaze went to his ring finger, as if to confirm the divorce in her mind and he idly wondered if Melinda Gordon was interested in him or if it was mere curiosity. Or just a single woman's instinct.

Speaking of...was Melinda single?

She didn't wear a ring, but did that mean anything in this day and age?

"What about you? What's your shackles status?" He quipped, pulling the poltergeist research book from his case and Melinda's eyes lit up.

"Um," Melinda said.

He waited for her to elaborate, but she didn't seem to want to. "Is it complicated? Cause I don't know how you could even get more complicated."

"It doesn't matter for the moment," she said.

"I told you," he said. "More than I intended to."

"Yeah, but your mouth runs anyway," she returned and he stepped back in mock shock.

"Whoa, Miss Gordon's got a mouth on her," he crowed.

"Yes, she does," Melinda sassed again and then shook her head. "Can we stay on topic? I had a very late night and I'd really like to go home sooner rather than later."

"Then why on earth were you waiting for me?" He asked. "What if I had class?"

"I checked the schedule," she said.

"Stalker much?" He asked.

"Poltergeist?" She reminded.

"What can I say? Dictionary says they attach themselves to prepubescent girls. They're all perverts," he said.

"Not this one," she sighed and sank into the chair opposite him, leaned back and shut her eyes for a moment, massaging her forehead with one hand.

He took the chance to look over her face. Yes, that was a scratch.

He took the chance to look at her chest. Yes, she was stacked, and unfortunately still covering her ample bosom.

"Looking again?" Melinda asked and his eyes jerked to her face out of surprise rather than respect. His persona didn't allow for respect.

"Who wouldn't?" He asked. "What's your poltergeist up to?"

"I don't know if I want to use that word," Melinda said. "I know, I used it first. But I know poltergeists, kind of, and it's my understanding that lots of ghosts can move things. Kinetic energy, psychokinetic energy."

"I'm impressed," Rick said. "You know big words."

"Yeah," Melinda said. "Big ones. What would you say classifies something as a poltergeist?"

"You get things figured out with Romano?" Rick asked.

"For now," she said. "He's not my focus."

"Okay," he said. "The traditional definition is a ghost who only communicates through noise and movement, then. Doesn't speak or can't articulate their needs in words."

"And would they not appear like normal ghosts?" Melinda asked.

"If they existed," Rick preambled. "Then yes, if normal ghosts appear like people, poltergeists wouldn't be able to achieve form like others could. Why? Because poltergeists aren't ghosts. A poltergeist is a supernatural event caused by human agents."

"What?" Melinda said. "But you said—"

"I said the traditional meanings," Rick replied smugly.

Confused, Melinda crossed her arms. "So, like being able to move things with your mind?"

"Yes, and 9 times out of 10, that human agent is a girl in the throes of puberty and/or going through horrible trauma." He squinted, finding a problem with her previous wording. "Wait a second, who can see ghosts in the first place?"

Melinda stalled at that.

"Do you profess to have, oh, I don't know, a sight?" Rick asked, leaning forward. "Because if you did, then you just got a hell of a lot more interesting to me, Melinda Gordon."

"Interesting enough to not be insulted anymore?" Melinda asked.

"I only insult people who were interesting in the first place," Rick said. "Otherwise, why bother riling them?"

"You enjoy it," Melinda said.

"Of course," Rick said. "It's my biggest joy in life, rattling people."

"Or your main coping mechanism," Melinda returned.

"That too," Rick admitted, standing and leaning with his fists on his desk. "What, or should I say, who, brought you to my office that first day, Miss Gordon?"

"The internet," Melinda answered, standing up. "I should go. Sleep, and all that."

Rick moved from behind his desk. Melinda would later describe this walk as a prowl, and she stepped back nervously but his door was closed and she only met hard wood.

"How did you get in?" He asked. "And I want the truth this time, Miss Gordon."

She fumbled for the knob. "You've got a lecture," she gasped.

"Are you in a relationship?"

"Why, did you finally decide I'm not insane?" She asked.

"Not necessarily, but why should that stop me?" Rick said, not letting himself contemplate what it would stop him from doing. He advanced until he was right in front of her, and there was a door at her back.

God, what a tempting sight she made. Hair spread, eyes so fucking wide, and a mouth that begged for something that Rick didn't dare label.

And her psyche, if you wanted to put it like that. What a fascinating person, with such fascinating questions. She was every professor's dream, a test subject that came to you instead of you searching for it.

Her breath was coming more rapidly now, as he placed his hands on either side of her. "Melinda," he said, and her eyes closed.

He was leaning in, not letting himself contemplate what was happening, when her hand finally found the knob. He went flying and only barely caught himself.

She went flying down the hallway, her brown skirt flipping up as she did, offering him a too short glimpse of perfectly shaped legs.

Rick stumbled back into his office, kicked the door shut with his foot and wondered what the hell he'd been about to do. Kiss an insane person?

But, as he'd told Melinda, why should her insanity stop him? And what if she wasn't insane? What if she were simply the person Rick had been waiting for all his life, the true believer, the person that artists would pick to be their muses and musicians would dedicate songs to.

Scientists would study and dissect them.

Rick just wanted to observe. Observe and learn all the dirty little secrets Melinda was so obviously hiding.

* * *

A/N: It was getting too hard to follow the show's plot line for the two, since he doesn't show up from ep2 to ep6. So I'm diverging.

Poltergeist doesn't seem to be a label that Melinda uses. I'm taking it to mean, for this story, an ghost that follows all the normal requirements for poltergeists, except for the prepubescent girl thing and I'm tweaking it so that Melinda can't see them.

If GW tackles poltergeists later, clue me in, please!

And I did, indeed, change the cover image. Rick sprawled on the floor surrounded by books just seemed to fit the story so much better than the previous image did.


	4. Chapter Four

A/N: I hit a goldmine in episode 2:18. It gave me a solid plot and now I have more info on poltergeists. Whoo hoo! Speaking of, I did some slight editing on the last chapter to reflect that. Payne says that a poltergeist is not a ghost; just excess energy of pubescent girls.

In his and Mel's words:

RP: A poltergeist is a supernatural event caused by human agents.

MG: Like being able to move things with your mind?

RP: Yes, and 9 times out of 10, that human agent is a girl in the throes of puberty and/or going through horrible trauma.

Read more at: transcripts. foreverdreaming. org (The most useful site _ever!)_

* * *

Julie was waiting for Melinda when she got home, and she looked beyond relieved to see her foster mother. "Melinda, I am so sorry."

"It wasn't your fault," Melinda soothed, placing a hand on the teenage girl's back.

"The window just broke," Julie said. "And it cut your face but you stayed with me."

"Of course I did," Melinda said. "And I'm sorry for leaving so early this morning, I had to ask someone some questions. I hope you saw my note."

"I did," Julie said. "Thanks for calling me in sick. I can't face school today."

Melinda slung an arm around Julie and guided her inside the house. "I'm sorry that you're going through this," Melinda said. "But you know what I can do. I made that clear from the beginning. I can help you, Julie. This is a ghost, or something near it. And we're going to get through this."

"I don't know why you decided to foster me," Julie said.

"Because I saw myself in you," Melinda replied. "And I knew that from the moment I saw you at that estate sale that you needed me."

Julie sniffed and moved her head closer to Melinda. "It's so hard," she said. "Everything's still breaking. I've known you for five months now, and it's the best five months since my mom died, Melinda. But I still break things when you come near me sometimes. Bad things still happen. And look what happened last week to that EMT. He was just trying to help and a ladder almost smashed him."

"We're getting nearer," Melinda said. "It's just going to be harder now that Andrea is gone."

"At least you found your professor through that," Julie said. "Do you really think he can help?"

"He already has," Melinda said. "You know we were talking about poltergeists?"

"Yeah," Julie said.

"It turns out that poltergeists aren't ghosts," Melinda said. "Which I didn't actually know. They're energy, Julie. Your energy, human energy."

"So it is my fault?" Julie asked, horrified.

"No, not at all," Melinda said. "It's still supernatural. But not the way we thought."

"I'm just making your life harder for you," Julie said.

"Don't say that," Melinda answered, and walked to the telephone. "Hey, who called?"

"I don't know, but they left a message," Julie said, wrapping her arms around her. "I didn't want to answer because I was home alone."

"I understand," Melinda said and pressed play on the answering machine.

 _Hey, Melinda, this is Delia. You asked me if I could open the store and I'm just calling to say that yes, I'm calling from there. See you soon? Or are you taking Julie to school?_

Melinda turned to Julie. "What's the answer? Am I taking you?"

"Please," Julie said. "I don't like the bus. The kids think I'm weird but last time a girl almost sat next to me. And she was nice."

"Oh," Melinda said. "Was everyone okay?"

"A crack appeared in the window next to me," Julie said. "But I got off at the next stop so that nothing happened."

"Okay, you made the right choice," Melinda replied. "So you can go get dressed and I should too. These are last night's clothes, aren't they?"

"Yeah," Julie said, and they both went upstairs to change.

* * *

Melinda drove to school quickly; her visit to Professor Payne had taken her longer than she had estimated and she made up for lost time by cutting through a drug store parking lot.

"That is so illegal," Julie said.

Melinda laughed. "I know, and you are so not allowed to do it when you start driving. Thank god we still have three years before that."

"Yeah," Julie said, but her tone wasn't joking and Melinda realized it wasn't funny.

"Hey, we'll have this all cleared up by then, Julie," Melinda said. "I promise."

Julie just nodded as they pulled up in front of the school building. "I hate this place."

"I didn't like school much either," Melinda said. "Not after a certain point. I just became a freak...but that won't happen to you."

"It kind of already has," Julie said. "I guess most people just think it's because I'm a foster kid."

"You have piano lessons after school," Melinda reminded.

"Yeah, I do," Julie said, brightening at just the mention.

"So you can walk there without incident, right?" Melinda asked.

"I think so," Julie said. "I'll keep away from people."

"That's not what I meant," Melinda said, leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to Julie's head. "Now go."

"Bye, Melinda," Julie said and left the car, moving slowly but still moving. Melinda watched after her for a moment, until a bang on her window startled her.

"Jim! What are you doing here?" She asked, rolling her window down.

"Just walking around," the EMT replied. "How's Julie doing after last week?"

"I never did thank you for saving her life," Melinda said. "So thanks."

"It's my job," Jim replied. "Hey, how are you doing?"

"What do you mean?" Melinda asked.

"It's October 11," Jim said. "Five months since May 11."

"Thank you for remembering," Melinda said.

"It's how I met you," Jim answered. "You never did tell me how you knew so much about the crash beforehand."

"It was intuition," Melinda said. "Listen, I have to get to work."

"Did you ever get a replacement for Andrea?" Jim asked.

"Yeah, just yesterday, actually," Melinda said. "Delia Banks. She's a real estate agent."

"Delia?" Jim asked. "I know her."

"Well, stop in sometime and say hi," Melinda said. "Gotta go."

"Right," Jim said and stepped away from her car.

Melinda drove away with the feeling that he was watching her.

* * *

Delia was waiting for her at the shop. "So, tell me if I did it correctly."

"What, opened up?" Melinda asked. "I mean, yeah, everything looks fine."

"Good," Delia said. "I had two customers and I even helped one of them find something even though I'm almost as clueless as they are. This is only my second day!"

"And you did a really good job," Melinda said. "Julie is going to her piano lessons after school so I should be able to stay all day. We can check out that sale I was telling you about."

"Good! Hey, what's that on your cheek?" Delia asked. "Did you cut yourself on something?"

Melinda swiped a hand up to her cheek; she had almost forgotten about last night's incident. "Oh, yeah. I broke a...glass last night and I guess a shard...hit me."

"Yikes," Delia said. "Well, at least it was glass. If not, you might want to get it checked."

"I'll be fine," Melinda said. "Don't worry about it."

"Okay," Delia said, stepping back. "Um, thanks for trusting me to open up the shop so soon. Where were you this morning? Just having a late breakfast with Julie?"

"I had to see someone," Melinda replied. "A professor, top of his field. I had to catch him before his first morning class."

"Ah," Delia said. "So what is his field?"

"Annoying the hell out of me?" Melinda said. "Sorry. Not you. Him. He's incredibly frustrating."

"One of _those_ geniuses?" Delia said. "Asperger's?"

"No, he's just rude," Melinda said. "It might be coping mechanism though. Who knows."

"And his field is?" Delia asked. "I mean, there are jerks in every field of study, but now I'll at least know to avoid this one."

"I think you'll be okay," Melinda said and ducked into the back room, leaving Delia slightly lost.

"What's his name?"

"Rick Payne," Melinda called. "Payne with a 'y' and an 'e'. But it could be spelled the other way and be just as accurate. I've been to see him a few times now, actually. He didn't improve on acquaintance."

"But now you're stuck with him?" Delia asked cautiously, peering into the back.

"He's the only one who can give me the answers I need," Melinda said. She could see the words, _which would be what?_ forming on Delia's lips but then the woman just shook her head.

"I get it, never mind," she said. "Anyway."

"The weird thing," Melinda suddenly exploded. "Is that today I felt something."

"Like what?" Delia asked.

"Never mind," Melinda muttered. "He was just getting pushy. Er. Pushier. Ugh, he's rubbing off on me."

"You are acting a little...bonkers," Delia said. "I mean, I don't know you that well, but still."

"It was a day that began too early for me," Melinda said. "I hope that's all there was to it because Rick Payne is..."

"Is what?" Delia said. "Come on, just relieve your tension. One swear word and you'll feel better. And then I'll get back in front."

Melinda considered. "Just go on."

Delia ducked out again and Melinda rubbed her forehead, because the one word she could think of when it came to Rick Payne was compelling. He was compelling. Pulling her towards him, and she didn't know how.

And she didn't need this.

* * *

The sale proved fruitful: Delia and Melinda came back to the shop with a box of wooden ornaments and some other assorted things.

"Liz had so many amazing things," Delia said, setting a few of them up. "Wow, it's too bad she's closing up. I hope you never do that, Melinda."

"I'm not going anywhere, believe me," Melinda reflected, moving her fingers over the ornaments.

They were troubling her, and as she moved closer one of them glowed, the one Delia had just placed on the shelf.

Okay, something was happening here.

She fought through feelings of confusion and anger, and a splitting headache that occurred just from looking at them. "Sometimes when I have new things I like to hold off on putting them out until I'm really sure where they're going."

She took the box and hurried into the back room. "What am I going to do with these?" She worried. "How can I take them home to where Julie is? That would be so dangerous."

But as she looked back at the front of the shop, she knew that leaving them here would be too risky. Maybe even riskier. At least Julie knew what Melinda could do.

And that left one person, one person that Melinda just didn't want to call. One person who didn't know about her powers and she desperately wanted to keep it that way.

Melinda reached to touch one, and suddenly there was ghost next to her.

"Oh, hello," she said. "You must be attached to these."

But he ignored her, avoiding eye contact.

Okay, sometimes spirits did that.

"I can help you," she said. "You don't have to be afraid."

But that made it worse. He started pounding on the table, and then his energy was exploding everywhere. A fish bowl fell, a glass shattered.

And finally, it all stopped. Melinda grabbed the box and took it out to her car, locking it in the trunk for later, when she had time to deal with it and figure out what she was going to do with it.

Because she was not going back to him, not so soon.

* * *

Melinda walked into the house cautiously, bearing the box of ornaments. Julie was in the kitchen.

"You're making dinner?" Melinda said. "Wow, you are a great person to have in my life."

"It's just canned soup," Julie said. "But I thought you'd appreciate it."

"I will," Melinda said. "Listen, I just want to change. Um, this box of stuff is haunted. Maybe you can just avoid it for a while, huh?"

Julie's eyes widened. "I will not go near it," she promised.

"I'll just leave it upstairs," Melinda said. "So that it's far from you."

"Good plan," Julie said nervously.

Melinda carried the box upstairs with her, keeping it in view while she undressed.

She had just emerged from the shower when the box started glowing. Melinda jogged forward and suddenly her world started flashing around her.

There was a house; she was on a porch. There were two people arguing, hitting each other.

And then she was back in the present.

Julie was next to her, shaking her bare shoulder. Melinda realized she was still in the towel she'd been wearing when she left the shower.

"I'm okay, Julie," she said instantly. "I'm okay. I had a...vision."

Julie was shaking. "I was about to call 9/11 but then I thought it probably did have something to do with ghosts."

"It does, but not yours," Melinda said. "But we've established that you don't have one."

She pushed herself to her feet, fighting to keep the towel around her.

Julie pointed with one, shaking finger. "What's moving the ornament?"

Melinda looked where she was pointing and saw her new ghost. "A man. I think he wants to destroy them. How do you feel about bonfires, Julie?"

It turned out Julie liked them.

But it also turned out that when they'd finished burning the ornaments, when the new ghost was gone and Julie and Melinda made their way back into the house...

The ornaments were back, in the box.

And so was Melinda's ghost.

 _Time to call Rick Payne_ , Melinda realized with an escalating heartbeat at the very thought of doing so. Damn, this was getting harder by the second.

* * *

A/N: The AU, I suppose, is now this: Melinda applied to foster Julie in what would have been the first season; she was approved after Andrea's death. I'm changing the timeline a bit too, but it's confusing me to try to explain it, so please just take these changes in stride. If anything _is_ still unclear, please mention what in your review and I'll get back to you in a PM, or, if it's a guest review, in the next chapter.


	5. Chapter Five

With nothing left to do, Melinda packed up the ornaments again and headed over to the university. The jeep cruised over the road and Melinda turned on the radio to distract her. It didn't work; the song that came on just reminded her of him.

And Julie, sitting next to her, switched the radio off again. "So what am I doing while you're in there?" She asked as Melinda pulled in. "Am I coming with you?"

"No, I don't think so," Melinda said. "Not to his office. There's a nice bench there, how about you try reading there? You brought some books, right? We did stop at the library."

"Yes, I brought some," Julie answered.

"I'll leave my keys with you," Melinda said. "You can stay in the car or you can read on the bench, just don't forget to lock up."

"Of course," Julie said and Melinda hopped from the car.

"Aren't you going to take the ornaments with you?" Julie called, leaning towards the driver's window.

"Not this time," Melinda said. "I'll wait to see what he says first."

"Okay," Julie said. "Because if you're leaving them in the car, I'm not staying inside."

"Understood," Melinda laughed and headed inside.

It surprised her how well she already knew the way to his office. Her feet seemed to take her there automatically even though this was only her fourth visit.

Troubling.

The door was open. Melinda hesitated to walk in, remembering how she'd met the professor and not wanting to take chances, but the door was open (as it had been the first time she'd entered through it) and so she walked in, calling his name. "Professor Payne?"

No answer.

Maybe she should leave.

"Professor Payne?"

She heard a scuffle and jerked to see where it was coming from.

His distinctive voice came from under his desk, of all places. "Go away! I changed my mind! No student office hours today!"

"I'm not a student."

The scuffling sound stopped.

"It's Melinda Gordon."

He emerged from beneath his desk, looking even more dishevelled than usual. His hair was all over the place and he seemed aware of the fact as he pushed it down.

"I should have known your voice," he said, standing up. "I don't really want to do this right now. No student hours, no...whatever you are hours, but I'm a generous man."

Melinda didn't comment on his tone of voice, too distracted by the way he kept looking around and lifting things up. "What are you looking for?"

"Well, before you came in, I was looking for my lunch," Payne said, lifting a stack of folders. "Crap. It's in a paper bag."

"Oh," Melinda said, and she also started looking around. "Brown-bagging it, huh? That doesn't sound like you."

Professor Payne shot her a dirty look and she stepped back. "Miss Gordon. All right. What do you have for me, huh? Bunch of ambiguous questions that you probably already know the answers to?" He gave up on looking; he leaned on his desk with one hand and put all his energy into studying her. Melinda resisted the urge to step back. Not after last time she wouldn't.

"Um, you give me too much credit," she answered, idly picking up a book on his desk.

"Maybe not enough credit," Payne answered. "Especially after those unanswered questions last time. What brings you back, Miss Gordon?"

She almost corrected him; it was automatic in her to tell people to call her Melinda. But with Professor Payne, something was different. It could change things if he called her by her name.

"In your studies, have you ever come across a situation where a spirit can make an object appear in our world?" Melinda jumped right into it, after realizing she'd been silent a beat too long and he was looking at her again.

Her chest, that is. Maybe she needn't have worried after all.

"Materialization?" Payne answered, his eyes narrowing.

The word brought up a vague memory of what it meant, but Melinda wasn't sure and took his word for it. "I guess. What I'm talking about is an object that the spirit can see and touch and that we can see and touch, too."

Payne considered her even closer; she was starting to feel like how a bug must feel under a microscope. "Let's hope it's jewelry and cash then, huh?"

She didn't laugh, and his eyes just stayed fixed on her face. "Yes or no?"

He shrugged and moved to the bookshelf. "Look, I've heard of it, but I don't believe it."

Melinda shifted her weight to one leg as she watched him again start moving about his office. "And why not?"

Payne threw up his hands as if the answer should be obvious. "Because I don't believe in ghosts!"

Right. She'd forgotten.

Her answer burst out before she could consider anything, it was so hard to fathom that a man could study something like this and not have the faintest inkling of belief. "How can you study this stuff and not believe in it?"

He was quick to rebut that though, and Melinda cursed herself for not seeing his answer before it came. He'd said it the first time they'd met, after all."I don't study the stuff, Miss Gordon. I- I study people's need to believe in the stuff, people like you standing in front of me,"

He again stopped his movements around the room, he looked at her and his gaze seemed to sweep over without him even realizing it and Melinda shivered from how second nature that was to him. "Looking...looking beautiful."

He moved closer. "And smelling delicious. What is that? Perfume? Is that French?"

She stepped away from him, raising her hands as if to ward him off but he didn't even notice and moved closer to her, stopping at his desk so he could lean against it, one hip cocked to sit on it.

"Okay, let's just assume for a minute that spirits exist and they can move objects," Melinda said.

"Then they're called apports. It's from the french word apporter. It means _to bring_." Payne was distracted now, looking at her but not seeing her.

"Bring what?"

"It brings clarity, deeper understanding, aside from the literal, you know, interpretation that an apport is sent from beyond to the living, maybe it's a manifestation of something that's so important, you know, something really symbolic." Payne sighed as he looked at her. "Your perfume is going to drive me crazy, Miss Gordon," he said, walked past her and brushed his hand over her shoulder as he did so.

Melinda spun to face him. "So if a ghost couldn't talk, they would maybe make an object appear as a way of communicating."

"And can these apports move on their own?" Payne just looked at her, looking frustrated and amused. "Yeah, and cats can water-ski."

"Is that why they glow?" Melinda asked, trying to follow his line of vision.

"Cats don't glow!" Payne protested and Melinda was lost.

"Hello, apports," she said, walking over to where he was standing. "What are you looking at?"

"I know you're talking about apports! Why are you yelling?" Payne said, and walked to the window. Melinda couldn't help but follow.

"I'm not yelling," she said softly.

"I'm yelling, right?" Payne said and suddenly wilted. "I make that mistake. I'm sorry. I tend to disassociate."

He looked at her again, standing with him by the window.

"That's an understatement," Melinda began and Payne suddenly put his hands on her shoulders, holding her there next to him.

"What do you want? Why are you here?" He asked, his hands squeezing tighter. "Do you have an apport at home? Is it glowing? Why don't you bring it in, then? We can test it!" His eyes grew dark and his hands stopped squeezing; he moved them down her arms.

"Why would I have an apport?" Melinda asked, trying to keep her concentration.

"You could have anything, Miss Gordon," Payne answered.

"Anything?" Melinda said and reached up to pry his hands off her arms. "How about the past ten minutes of my life back?"

With that, she stalked from the room, leaving Payne alone. She heard the words he tossed after her and tried to shake them from her head.

"Ah. You... you baffle me! You little minx."

* * *

Rick watched her leave, how she looked over her shoulder at him at the last second,

God, she was a frustrating woman. And what perfume. It really had drove him crazy, the way she kept walking around the room and spreading that scent behind her. Filling his nose with the scent of something that somehow evoked the images of grass and bare skin, sunlight and making love outside.

"Minx," he repeated, remembering her fluid movements.

He realized, again too late, that it was, again, too late to ask her the right questions.

But he probably wouldn't have gotten the right answers anyway. Melinda Gordon had a way of flipping every question back at you, of deflecting no matter what you said and somehow giving it back to you and making you more confused and aroused than ever.

Aroused? Yes.

Hell yes.

It was too bad he had class, he thought as he grabbed his brown paper bag (discovered on top of his file cabinet). He'd really like to spend an hour (or five) just thinking about her and what secrets she held, and what she looked like naked...

No, that was a thought better left unthought.

Shit, too late.


	6. Chapter Six

"How did it go?" Julie asked as Melinda emerged from the building, still in a huff.

"Terribly," she snapped. "Professor Payne is...a pain," she finished lamely, shaking her head, trying to clear it of him.

"Really? No answers?" Julie asked, hurrying to keep up with her foster mother as she speedwalked to the car.

Melinda sighed, grudgingly giving the answer. "He did have some answers but concluded with the remark that he'd need to see the apports before he could determine anything."

"Apports?" Julie asked, getting into the passenger side as Melinda climbed into the driver's seat.

"That's what this kind of object is called," Melinda said. "It's french. It means _to bring_. The ghost is bringing it with his energy."

"Why?" Julie asked.

Melinda sighed. "I'm still not sure. He refuses to communicate with me. He just avoids looking at me and bangs the ornaments. Hey, do you mind if I stop by the store I got these from?"

Julie hesitated. "I guess not," she said, slouching in her seat.

"What's wrong?" Melinda asked, wondering what was up with Julie. "Did anyone try to talk to you?"

"I wanted to practice my piano this morning," Julie said. "My teacher said I could come over."

"Oh," Melinda said. "You should have mentioned that earlier, Julie."

Julie slumped down farther in her seat. "Yeah, well, whatever. It doesn't matter. Just stop at the store."

Melinda shot a glance at Julie. "It's on the way home, it won't take that long," she assured the teen.

"Whatever," Julie repeated and Melinda sighed.

* * *

Liz confirmed everything Melinda thought.

"Did these ornaments, maybe, just appear?" Melinda asked, after a few moments of preamble.

Liz's eyes widened. "Yes, that's it," she agreed. "That's why I couldn't say where I'd gotten them, cause I didn't know!"

The woman threw her hands up in the air, as if giving up. "I was racking my brain and couldn't remember and I didn't see anyone drop them, but you know it too." Her eyes pierced Melinda.

"Last night a set of ornaments just like the ones you sold me appeared on my kitchen table," Melinda said.

Liz nodded fervently. "That's what happened," she said. "They just appeared."

"Did you see a man around here?" Melinda asked. "Short brown hair, wouldn't look you in the eye?"

"Someone shifty?" Liz asked, then shook her head. "No, I would have remembered."

"Okay, well, thank you," Melinda said. "Now I have to get back out to the car."

Liz chuckled. "My daughter hated waiting in the car too," she sighed.

"She's not...you have kids too?" Melinda corrected herself.

"Oh. I did," Liz said. "A daughter. I haven't seen her in a long time though."

"How sad," Melinda said. "What happened?"

Liz shrugged. "It's complicated," she said. "But at the time, I thought I was doing the right thing. She disagreed."

Melinda wondered at the woman, but only stuck her hand out. "It was nice to see you again," she said, shaking Liz's hand. "Thank you for what you said."

"Of course, I'm just here to help," Liz said. "Do you see anything else you'd like to buy?"

"Not this time, but thank you," Melinda laughed and hurried back outside.

Julie was now outside of the car, leaning on her door with a scowl on her face that Melinda didn't think she'd seen before.

"There'll be time, Julie," Melinda promised. "I'll take you straight to Amanda's."

Julie got back into her seat grudgingly, and didn't speak the rest of the ride to Amanda Garret's house, her piano teacher. Melinda tried to get her to talk, but after the third icy glare she gave up.

Julie was a teenager, after all.

Melinda had forgotten.

* * *

The box of ornaments weighed on her mind when she got to the shop but she left them in the back of her car, determined not to think about them.

The shop had a lazy afternoon; Melinda sent Delia home after a point simply because there was not enough for both of them to do.

And then she went out to the car and took the box of ornaments, brought them back into the shop and just looked at it, daring herself to pick one up. They all seemed to have an energy, a pull.

She looked at the clock above the counter. 4:30. All classes at Rockland were done with by five.

She knew where she was going next.

* * *

The students passing her shot her curious looks, and one girl actually approached her.

"Are you waiting for Professor Payne?" The girl asked, as Melinda leaned on the wall outside of his office.

"Yes, why, did he go somewhere?" Melinda asked.

"He was just acting extra crazy today," she said. "Have you met him? If not, today's a bad day."

"I know him," Melinda assured her.

"Okay, just finding out," the girl said. "Though, if you can see me, you might be a little crazy too."

A group of students passed, walking straight through her. Melinda jerked in surprise; this ghost had given off no emotions to clue Melinda in.

"I'm Rocky," the girl said. "Find me if you need help. I'm usually in the library."

Melinda watched the ghost leave, wondering.

"I thought you'd be back," a voice said, right next to her and she jumped, the box of ornaments bouncing in her arms.

Payne stood there, propping himself on the door with his elbow and staring at her. He was close, disconcertingly so.

"I brought some...apports," Melinda said, licking her lips nervously.

Payne smirked. "I thought you would," he answered. "Why didn't you bring them earlier?"

"I wanted to see what you'd have to say first," she said. "Maybe I didn't have them with me earlier. Besides, you had class."

"My schedule is made to be broken," Payne replied, but dug in his pocket for keys then, unlocking the door and letting them in.

"Good day of classes?" Melinda asked as Payne put his assorted items down; briefcase, empty brown paper bag and a plastic bag from the drugstore nearest the campus; Walgreens.

"I don't remember much of it," Payne said. "As I said, I tend to disassociate. Sometimes it's a handy talent."

She stood off to the side, hugging the box in front of her as he cleared a space for it on one of the tables. "Well, Miss Gordon, here's a space for you."

She walked to the table and placed the box on the desk in front of him.

Payne went off into his own little world, it seemed, picking up the ornaments and examining them. He touched each one with care, his long fingers sliding over every inch of them.

Watching him made Melinda feel a bit short of breath, and she shifted in her seat. She'd often told her girlfriends that there was nothing sexier than a man who knew what he was doing, whatever his field of study or profession was.

She was emphatically confirming that in her mind as she watched Payne do his thing, moving from ornament to ornament with ease, taking careful study of each.

Finally he finished with them, and turned to look at her.

"These objects don't vibrate any more than your regular objects," he said, sounding disappointed. "I touched all of them and nothing."

Melinda was also disappointed. "Well, my...friend said that they did. I don't know what to make of it either. You didn't, I don't know, hear something? See something?"

"Should I have?" Payne asked slyly, sinking into his chair.

"My friend said she felt transported," Melinda answered, feeling how his eyes never left her.

"What should I see?" He asked. "Did she say? Did she see a movie? Or maybe it will play pop songs. It's wood, Miss Gordon. Is it Miss? Or Mrs.?"

Melinda shook her head. "It's not normal. They aren't normal."

"What is, in this world?" Payne said. "So she felt transported. As I said, I touched all of them. Nada." He crossed his arms behind her head and just looked at her. "I'm still here," he said, his voice softer. "What time of day did she say it was?"

"How does that factor into it?" Melinda asked, considering just leaving but she wasn't sure if she should take the ornaments with her and if she was, she'd have to touch the one that Payne had left out of the box. And she was not going to touch one with him around.

"If it was around happy hour, it factors into it a lot," Payne said.

Melinda felt something burst and she surged to her feet. "That is not funny," she snapped.

He stood with her, and she cursed her shortness. Just two more inches and, in these heels, she'd be taller than him. But no go.

"I thought you'd have at least a professional curiosity," Melinda continued. "Especially after earlier."

"Ah yes, earlier," Payne replied. "That was a fun time. I see you changed your perfume."

"It faded," she snapped. She wanted to leave but the ornament outside of the box sat on the table, taunting her.

"You obviously want to go," Payne said. "Why don't you? Just take them and go."

"You won't do more tests on them?" Melinda asked.

"Do you want me to?" Payne asked. "You seem quite angry with me right now."

Melinda sank back onto her chair and Payne again copied her, steepling his hands underneath his chin.

"You know, speaking of tests," Payne began after a tense moment. "Here's one. You haven't touched a single ornament since you've been here and you've been the one I left out of the box the evil eye for the past five minutes. So, Miss Gordon, what happens when you touch one?"

Melinda swallowed. She was getting in too deep and she knew it but Payne was looking at her like that and she felt dizzy even without touching one.

"Why would I touch one?" Melinda managed. "How is this scientific? Aren't you...aren't you scientific at least in your studies?"

He ignored her words, carefully picking up the ornament left on the table; a bunny. "Empirical data is very scientific," he murmured, caressing the bunny. "This guy had a higher energy level than the rest. What happens when you touch him, Melinda?"

Her name on his lips seemed to burn through her. He reached out and took her right hand in his, using his left to carefully place the bunny there and fold her hand over it so she wouldn't drop it. His watch brushed against her wrist; it was cool metal and made her shiver.

Then again, she was shivering anyway, from the way his fingers brushed over her skin to the way he now refused to look at her now that he was touching her.

These were dangerous waters for both of them, she reflected, as his hands finally, slowly, pulled away from her.

 _Even Payne is afraid of falling._

And then she was pulled away, to a girl crying, begging, reaching for a mother that was leaving her behind with some kind of doctor. The girl's anguish and confusion ripped through Melinda, leaving her gasping and crying.

"Don't leave me, Mama!" The girl cried and Melinda almost sobbed herself as she flashed back to Payne's office, torn from the past.

He was staring at her again, mouth open. Melinda surged to her feet in utter relief that she was back, dropping the damned bunny into the box like he'd burned her.

Maybe he had.

"What happened?" Payne gasped, jumping after her as she grabbed the box with trembling hands, ready to flee. "What did you see?"

"I saw a child being taken from her mother," Melinda said, feeling how she was still shaking from the vision.

Payne saw it too, and tried to take the box from her but she wouldn't let him; it became a tug of war until he dropped it, his hands going back to his sides in defeat.

"Are you telling me the truth?" He asked.

"I'd love to believe it wasn't," Melinda said. "If it was all made up, I would be so happy right now, Professor Payne." She whirled around, feeling the shaking getting worse and she turned to the table just in time to drop the box there before falling to the floor onto her hands and knees.

Gravity. She needed gravity and it refused to be.

Payne crouched next to her, placing what was supposed to be a comforting hand on her shoulder but it made everything worse because now there was desire coursing through her.

"Melinda," he said, his use of her name again burning through her. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she snapped, but stayed where she was, as the room still spun around her. "Just tell me more."

"It's called psychometry," Payne said. "It's getting visions of the past from touching objects."

Her world stopped spinning. Melinda slowly got off her hands and knees and sat on the floor, facing Payne and meeting him head on.

"That makes sense," she managed.

"Easy for you to say," Payne replied but the relief on his face that her attack was over was showing all over his face.

"Maybe you could do some more tests on them," Melinda said and knew that he knew she simply didn't want to pick up the box again.

"Sure, yeah, of course," he said immediately and Melinda almost laughed at how he used four words for the same response.

She started to get up and Payne shot to his feet to help her, grabbing onto her arms and pulling her up to him.

Her chest almost touched his and his hands on her made her feel comforted, somehow. She didn't want to pull away; she wanted to stay next to him and let him protect her.

"Damn it," she exclaimed, yanking herself away from him.

"What?" He asked.

"I have to go," she said and again took off running.

* * *

Payne approached the box after she'd left, staring at the ornaments. "I guess I could use my scanner," he mumbled, wondering why he felt so unsettled.

It wasn't like he was the one to receive ghostly visions.

He caught himself.

It wasn't like ghostly visions really existed.

Did they?

* * *

A/N: And what Melinda said about there there being nothing sexier than a man who knows what he's doing, whatever his field of study or profession is, that's something I put in. Because it is so true.

Be it an employee at a grocery store, a bike repairman, a lawyer, a college professor or a doctor (medical, mental, chiropractic), when a man knows what he's doing and does it with complete confidence, there's almost nothing I find sexier or more admirable.

BTW: on the third season now.

And now only the rating is subject to change. The title and cover image have finally stuck on me.

Oh, but I changed the subcategory from humor to drama. Still romance, though! :D

Reviews are chocolate for a chocoholic like me! Pretty please if you liked it! Or even if you didn't.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Tasseomancy:** Wow, thank you so much! Especially because I know the feelings from 'searching through the cosmos'. I know how it feels to find that one perfect story, and let me say that it feels amazing to be the one writing it. I hope you continue to give feedback! It will assure me that I'm keeping everyone in character.

* * *

Rick felt his heartbeat quicken when the phone rang.

It had been three agonizing days and Melinda hadn't shown up at all. He'd almost... _almost_...considered going to her shop and seeing what was up but he'd decided that desperation became no one (except maybe Melinda when she was desperate for him) and had forced himself to stick to his going-home route instead of diverging to Grandview.

He dived for his office phone, answering it with his usual too-quick voice. "Hello, this is Rick Payne and if you're not who I think you are, I probably don't want to talk to you."

"Well, that's too fucking bad, Rick," his ex-wife's voice shot through the phone line, giving him an instant headache.

"Kate. Why the hell are you calling me?"

"Because some mail addressed to you came to me, even though you kept the house," she snapped.

"What is it, junk?" Rick asked, raking his hand through his already completely disheveled hair.

"No, it looks important which is why I didn't drop it in the shredder the instant it arrived," Kate snapped back.

"Well, I'm not that sentence follows, considering who I'm talking to, but I won't look a gift horse in the mouth," he drawled back, turning to face the windows.

His heartbeat spiked again to see a familiar head of brunette curls pass by his window. "Holy shit. Just send it to me or something, Kate, I have to go."

"I'm going that way so I'll just stop by your office later today," she said.

"Yeah, whatever," he said, not hearing a word she said. "Bye."

He slammed the phone down, feeling the urgent need to present himself to Melinda in a certain way but had no idea what way that would be.

His office was a mess from three days of frantically studying her ornaments and performing every test known to man on them. And Melinda hadn't even returned to see what was happening.

Until now.

There was a knock on his office door. "They're called open hours for a reason," he called.

"Yeah, but the door was closed and we have bad history over said door and whether or not your office was open," Melinda said and he resisted the urge to turn around immediately.

He felt a huge smile spread across his face just from having her there but he knew he couldn't let her see that so he stayed at the window a beat longer, hoping that she couldn't hear the smile in his voice when he spoke.

"I'm not a storage unit, Miss Gordon," he drawled, forcing the smile from his face and turning around. But when he saw her, he knew it returned and he couldn't bring himself to care.

It was just that good to have her there, especially considering how beautiful she looked right now, standing at the table and looking at the box of ornaments there, in a halter dress that left her back and shoulders so bare Rick's hands literally tingled at the thought of touching them.

Not that he would. Not that he could.

"You're touching them," he commented.

"Yeah, it's okay now," she answered. "That's all done with. Complete. I just remembered that I still had to get them out of your way again, whoops."

"I think I pushed too far last time," Rick began. Afraid of getting too serious, he quickly continued the sentence. "Or did I eat garlic for lunch again?"

Melinda just looked at him for a moment. "I should have expected this," she muttered. "You couldn't possibly take anything seriously, could you?"

"I told you, I did the tests," Rick said. "Everything is normal. Now, could you take them back? As I also said, I am not your personal storage unit."

He saw her throat working, as if she was mustering up courage to say something. "What, Miss Gordon?"

"Three days ago you called me Melinda," she breathed, and then reverted to just looking at him again.

Rick felt something slam in his chest and realized it was just his heart, beating overtime.

"I realized…that I was overreacting to some of the things that happened last time, to some of the things you said," Melinda continued. "For whatever reason, my passions run high whenever I'm with you, causing me to lose my temper. And other things."

"You can lose whatever you want to in this office," Rick breathed.

Melinda approached the table, reaching slowly for the box on top of it. "I just came by to say…what I said and to take these back," Melinda said. "You're right, you aren't my personal storage unit."

Rick felt something twist in his chest. "You're leaving again? No questions this time?"

"What can I say?" She asked. "I no longer have need of information from you."

"So then why do I have trouble believing that statement?" Rick asked, leaning on his desk.

Melinda shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe you had garlic for lunch and it's messing with your brain."

The way she tossed the words back at him hurt, he had to admit as he watched her load the box into her arms.

He tensed, ready to jump up and catch her.

But she was fine, walking to the door without so much as tripping.

"Thank you, Professor Payne," she said once there, struggling to move the box so she could turn the knob.

Rick stood up, a force outside of him compelling him towards her, to slam the door shut just after she managed to open it a crack.

She looked up at him, disbelieving. "What are you doing?" She asked.

"You can't just walk out on me," he said. "You can't leave like this. Of course you have more questions. Melinda, you always have more questions!"

He realized he'd used her first name again, and then repeated it, loving the way it rolled off his lips. "Melinda."

"I don't need this anymore, this whirl around, push-me, pull-me," Melinda said. "No. I'm done with this, Professor Payne. Next time, I'll use penthius."

The box was like a brick wall between them. Rick saw the way her gaze traveled to his upper arm, strained from holding the door shut.

He saw her swallow, and wondered why.

"Could you move away from the door?" She asked.

"I don't want to," Rick said. "So no."

She huffed, shifting the box to her hip. Rick watched the movement, loving the way the dress she was wearing emphasized said hips. "What are you doing, Rick?"

They both startled, automatically meeting each other's eyes when she said his name. "You called me Rick," he murmured.

"It's not that big of a deal," she scoffed.

"For you, I think it is," he returned, taking the box from her arms. "Melinda."

She was standing by the door as he lowered the box to the ground. The door was free and she wasn't moving an inch, she seemed riveted to the spot, watching him.

He straightened and turned back to her, his hands going to her shoulders. He leaned in, his mouth going to her ear and his hands tightened involuntarily the closer he got.

He could feel her pulse quicken, and his cheek brushed hers.

"Melinda," he whispered in her ear and felt the muscles in her face and neck move as she swallowed. "Why don't you tell the truth for why you came back here? And why you're leaving again after this?"

"I did say the truth," she replied, her voice almost lower than his, tickling him.

"I don't think you did," he returned, letting his lips brush her ear and he felt, more than heard, the tiny moan she made, deep in the back of her throat, which almost prompted a similar sound in return from him. "I think you're afraid, Melinda Gordon. I think you're afraid of a lot of things, least of all telling me what brought you to my office in the first place."

"I'm not afraid," she said, her voice growing stronger.

His lips touched her earlobe again and he was about to kiss her there, or tug her ear into his mouth, because he really wanted to, when she yanked herself away.

Her cheeks were flushed bright red, and her chest was rising and falling at such a rapid rate Rick was afraid for her heart health.

She grabbed the box of ornaments, and he admired the view of her ass she did so, wishing for so much more from these encounters.

She always left him wanting more.

This time, she grabbed his left arm, rather violently, and yanked him out of the way, barely balancing the box of ornaments on her jutting hip .

The door was thrown open and Melinda was leaving.

"Next time, we'll do your breasts," he called after her, not missing the way she stiffened and when she turned around, her eyes breathed fire at him.

"Go to hell, Rick Payne," she seethed.

"I was already planning on it, actually," he chuckled and something twitched in her face.

She swirled around again so quickly, he was afraid of her getting whiplash from the motion.

He moved to his desk and sat down, trying to get as comfortable as he could what with the raging boner between his legs.

Melinda could always brighten his day…and he could always ruin hers. It was a beautiful relationship, he reflected.

* * *

His day quickly went downhill from there. He was in the middle of a lecture when a student fainted, leaving him to call 911 and immediately clear the classroom of 90% of his students. Admittedly, cancelling class was the silver lining to the incident.

A medical student performed CPR on the girl, per the operator's instructions, but she was still out cold by the time the paramedics got there, led by a tall, dark and undeniably handsome guy named Jim.

He annoyed the hell out of Rick the instant he saw him.

After reviving her, Jim had the others with him take the student out to the ambulance and then approached Rick.

"Hey, so, how well do you know Cat?" He asked, running a hand through his hair, which was flopping over his forehead.

"She's a student," Rick said flatly. "I don't have any involvement in my student's personal lives. She came to class on time and she never asked questions. Pretty much a dream student."

Jim laughed. "Hey, what do you teach?"

"I teach the need to believe in the occult," Rick replied. "Why people do. What motivates them to place their belief in something so fantastic."

"I'm guessing you don't believe in it yourself," Jim mused.

"You'd be correct," Rick said.

"But you're still an expert, on the occult itself too?" Jim asked, suddenly becoming alert.

"I suppose," Rick replied.

"Could I ask you a few questions?"

Rick moved to his desk, moving the things around there in an attempt to mask his irritation. Why was everyone suddenly so interested in his field of study?

"Sure," Rick said. "But just a few. I'll need to fill out some paperwork after this incident. And shouldn't you be going along with Cat in the ambulance?"

"My partners have that covered," Jim shrugged. "They'll have already left. My job now is to ask around about Cat."

"What, do you suspect foul play?" Rick asked, disdain creeping into his voice but Jim just laughed, a booming sound that Rick was sure attracted many unwitting females.

"No, but I do suspect drug use and it'd make my job easier to know what she was taking," Jim said. "But the doctors can take care of it and I do actually need some answers."

"Why?" Rick asked, his voice clipped.

"I'm writing a book," Jim said smoothly.

"I thought you were a paramedic," Rick replied.

"It's a hobby," Jim said, tilting his head.

Rick hated this man, hated his height, hated his good looks and undeniable charm. He hated that Jim was everything that he himself was not.

"You're the first person I've met to say that saving lives was a hobby," Rick said glibly, sitting down at his desk.

Even then, Jim remained unflappable other than letting a perfect smile show on his face. "The book is the hobby part," he responded, pulling up one of the students chairs and settling into it. "Anyway. I'm a little lost in my research right now. I'm playing around with symbolism, cats, for example."

"Cats," Rick replied. "If we're going to be getting into this, I'll need the books in my office."

He finished packing his briefcase and stood up, clicking the case shut. "Well, come along if you must," he said, leading the way out of the classroom and along to his office. While unlocking the door, his mind flashed back to doing this for Melinda and he fought off an unwanted shiver.

"You okay?" Jim asked, looking concerned.

"There's an air duct up there," Rick said, opening the door and going straight to the bookshelf. "Okay, Jim the Paramedic. Try this."

He handed Jim his book on cats, crossed his arms and waited for Jim to flip through it.

"What about that one?" Jim asked, pausing at the Abyssinian.

"Excellent choice," Rick praised. "Egyptian. Very spooky looking, huh? You know, the ancient Egyptians, they were crazy about cats, Jim. If you killed a cat, you had to be killed. If your cat died, you went into mourning. You had to shave off your eyebrows while in mourning. That was a look, huh?"

Jim blinked. "What if I threw beetles into the mix?"

These questions were too easy. "That would depend."

"On the beetle?" Jim asked. "Well, I don't really know types of beetles."

"I've always been partial to George," Rick inserted. The look on Jim's face was almost comical. "Sorry. That's a joke. It really was." Rick sighed, going to his computer. "What color are these beetles?"

"Green. And they're…shiny," Jim said.

"Green? Those are scarabs. There's a lot of Egyptian symbolism in your book," Rick commented but Jim just shrugged.

Rick sighed, pulling up the correct web page. "Dung beetles. Used a lot in Egyptian iconography, usually symbolizing regeneration and rebirth."

"So what would that mean for my story?" Jim asked. "If my character was being sent these symbols?"

Rick shrugged, spinning his chair away from his desk. "It could mean beauty, Egypt. It could mean the goddess Isis, she's the most powerful, most popular. But you have cats. That's also a powerful motif. That would make me think of the goddess Bast."

"Bast?" Jim asked. "As in Bast cosmetics?"

"No, as in the goddess who protected cats and women," Rick replied.

"Yeah, but there's a company…" Jim trailed off. "You know what? Never mind. You've really helped me, Professor…Doctor Payne."

"You're as bad as her," Rick snorted.

"As bad as who?" Jim asked, pausing in his flight.

"Just a woman I know," Rick said. "She comes in all the time to ask vague, mysterious questions and then leaves running."

Jim's eyes widened. "What does she look like?"

"Why, is that your type of woman?" Rick scoffed. Not wanting to unwittingly give himself competition, he tried for some vagueness himself. "She owns some kind of antiques store."

Now Jim's eyes lit up, scaring him. "What?" Rick demanded.

"Melinda Gordon," Jim said, a note of triumph in his voice. "I knew it. I knew she…"

Rick's heart chilled. "Knew she what?"

"Never mind, nothing at all," Jim said. "You really helped, doc. But I have to go now."

Rick watched the much taller, much handsomer man leave the room, feeling more than a touch scared.

Melinda was a beautiful woman. Of course other men found her attractive.

But someone like Jim the Paramedic would have no trouble romancing her.

And it further troubled Rick that such a thing bothered him. He wasn't looking for a relationship.

He wasn't looking for love. Far from it. He'd lived that life with Kate before now. And she'd cheated on him and subsequently divorced him. Who was he to think that, if he couldn't satisfy Kate, he could ever satisfy Melinda Gordon…a woman so intriguing she'd be sure to demand excitement from every part of her life, especially her significant other.

And she was too complicated, Rick rationalized as, with shaking hands, he started to take student papers from his briefcase. His life was crazy enough. He didn't need her in it to further muddle everything up.

The vision of her came to him, as she'd been today, dressed in that halter dress...

The curve of her hips, her breasts, her smile…

Most of all her smile, the crinkle of laughter at her eyes.

He realized that he hadn't seen her smile today. She'd been the farthest thing from smiling with him and he felt a pang in his heart.

He wanted to see her smile. He wanted to see her smile at him. He wanted to be able to be the person to make him smile.

But, he had a sinking feeling, that it might already be too late.

* * *

A/N: Again, some of my own opinions inserted…the thing I want most in life (right now) is the ability to always make that special person in my life smile. I just want to see him smile. I want to be the person who makes him smile. And that's always enough for me.

Also: I love Jim. I think he is one of the best characters on the show. I adore the partnership that blossoms between Melinda, Rick and Jim late in the second season and continuing onto the third season.

So please, no bashing. This is not that kind of story.


	8. Chapter Eight

Melinda felt her worries creeping up on her that afternoon at the shop. What had happened this morning, with Rick, had beyond alarmed her. It had made her feel things that she hadn't in a while and had sworn off of after Kyle.

Well, not forever. Just until she found an actually good guy. And definitely not someone like Rick. No matter how much sexual tension there was with him, she vowed as she got up to straighten a display after a customer left, it wasn't worth getting involved with someone who just promised to hurt you.

The door rang as a customer entered. Melinda turned to see who it was and smiled.

"Julie! You came here, instead of home?"

Julie wandered into the shop, looking around with a wary look on her face.

"Yeah, I needed to ask you a question, but I don't think I should stay long, in case...well, you have a lot of fragile things here." Julie finished. "I wouldn't want to break something."

"Don't worry about that," Melinda said, pulling the reluctant teenager into a hug.

"Yeah, and you aren't anything like Ned," Delia said cheerfully from her post behind the counter. "He breaks something almost every time he's in here, and I'm not sure if it's unintentional. You'd never give anyone trouble, Julie. Speaking of, how was school?"

"It was okay," Julie said.

"Did you see Ned?" Delia asked, moving around the counter.

"No, we really don't have anything together," Julie said. "I did see him leaving, but he was with his friends, and, honestly, I can't deal with that."

"Ugh, I know," Delia agreed. "He's picked the oddest group of people to make nice with. I'm not sure about them either."

Melinda smiled, charmed that Delia would work so hard to be friendly with Melinda's foster child. Sometimes Delia seemed a bit...traditional. Especially with things like Melinda's gift, and other troubling matters. She knew that Delia wouldn't take anything supernatural well, so she was glad that Delia took Julie so well when it seemed obvious to Melinda that others distanced themselves from Julie (and Melinda by connection) because she was so obviously a 'troubled teen' and therefore not worthy of notice.

Those people thought of Julie as less than human yet seemed to assume that all teenagers just magically became adults overnight, with no trouble or angst along the way. They just expected Julie to grow up...and do it quickly.

Even one of her neighbors, an elderly woman that Melinda had previously professed to have a heart of gold, had been more than troubled with Melinda when she'd announced her decision to take Julie in.

"You'd bring a girl like that into this nice neighborhood?" Mrs. Brummel had raged. "After finally getting some peace back. I was unsure about you when you rented that big, ramshackle house, just one little girl doing repairs—! You seemed fine though; if a little ditzy. And now you go beyond the pale. Why must this be foisted on this neighborhood?"

Melinda shuddered to remember the conversation, had on the front porch of Melinda's 'big, ramshackle house' the day before Julie's arrival.

And she wouldn't be surprised if it was Mrs. Brummel who'd sent the police to check up on Melinda and Julie one night Julie broke a lamp.

Yes, it was just Melinda in the house. She was the only one doing repairs, with some outside help from a repairman friend of Andrea's, but she'd gotten far and, when she'd had the conversation with Mrs. Brummel, she'd only had some minor plumming issues left.

And now there were, admittedly, more. Since Julie had moved in, there had been multiple electrical problems, all directly relating to her.

She'd told Julie about her gift as soon as she'd dared. Julie hadn't taken it well; she'd panicked and caused a three house power shortage.

And one of those houses was, of course, Mrs. Brummel's.

Now, Melinda ended Delia's conversation with Julie. "I was thinking we could get a scoop of pumpkin custard, if Delia was feeling in charge today."

Delia immediately got back into business mode. "Of course. You go get some pumpkin custard."

"Any requests?" Melinda asked, grabbing her jacket because the air outside was a little chilly; just in fall's usual tingly way.

"I shouldn't," Delia said but then sighed. "Maybe a scoop of chocolate with heath bar on top."

"Good choice," Melinda said and, slinging an arm around Julie, headed outside.

"How's life?" Melinda asked. "Specific instances only."

"It's better," Julie admitted. "It's not happening as much lately. Not since that night with you."

"Which was caused by some very stressful events the day before," Melinda assured her. "So I think we're in the clear." She took a deep breath and dived in. "I know we took a sort of break during the ornament fiasco. But now we need to get back to you, Julie."

Julie's eyes widened. "Why? What do you mean?"

They reached the custard shop and Melinda opened the door. "Can I wait outside?" Julie asked, already moving to one of the wooden tables there. It was a bit out of season to be eating outside, but the sun was shining so Melinda nodded.

"Sure. Just wait for me here."

The instant she walked in she had second thoughts. Jim (Callahan? O'Connor? Clancy?) was standing there, holding a scoop of rocky road and looking at a business card in his hand.

A business card which, upon a second sneaked glance, turned out to be one of hers.

Melinda moved a step away from him, angled her glance in a different direction and moved to the counter.

He seemed pretty absorbed in his rocky road, she reflected. Maybe he'd leave and she'd be safe.

"Here's part two of your order, Jim," Jessie Tolefson called out as she came to the counter, holding a paper bag stained with grease. "Hey, Melinda. What can I get you?"

She felt Jim pause next to her, felt the hair raise on her neck from his proximity.

He towered over her as he reached to take the bag, where his arm was was right next to her head.

"Um. Can I have two orders of one scoop of the pumpkin custard, one with caramel and one with pecans?" Melinda rattled off, as she had perfected Julie's order of caramel a long time ago. "And one scoop of chocolate with heath bar on top."

"Of course," Jessie said and rung her up.

As Melinda got her change back, she realized that Jim hadn't actually left; he stood by the door and when Jessie disappeared to fill Melinda's order, he approached her.

"You know, I was just talking about you," Jim said, placing his bag onto a ledge at his elbow. He took a bite of custard and she couldn't help watching.

"Who with?" Melinda asked, resisting the urge to fold her arms.

"A professor over at Rockland U," Jim said. "I had an ambulance call over there today." He took another bite of custard, showing his relish by saying, "This is good. I love Jessie's rocky road custard. Have you ever tried it?"

"I mainly stick with seasonal flavors, and try new things," Melinda replied. And that was when a ghost appeared at Jim' side, a stunningly beautiful woman.

Melinda's eyes widened and Jim noticed it. "What?"

"There was a spider," Melinda adlibbed. "It's gone."

The ghost stayed at Jim's elbow, staring at the paramedic intensely. Melinda made the mistake of looking just one instant too long and the ghost immediately shot to Melinda's side.

"You can see me! I want Jim to but so far he can only see me in dreams." The woman gasped. "Can he see me now? Is this a next step or something?"

Melinda tilted her head, trying to make the ghost be quiet for a moment. "How did you end up talking about me?" Melinda asked. "Are you and this professor in the market for antiques?"

"No, he was comparing me to you," Jim said, looking amused that she didn't ask who it was; like he knew exactly why she wouldn't ask.

"How so?" Melinda asked, shaking her head subtly at the supermodel/ghost, but, like most ghosts, she completely missed or ignored all attempts at subtlety.

"It isn't, or he'd already be able to see me, right?" The ghost asked. "Oh god. I'm Eva Turner. Can you just mention the name to him, see if he remembers me?"

Melinda closed her eyes, trying to take a few moments to restore her patience.

"He said that you also liked to ask cryptic questions," Jim said.

Melinda realized that Eva wasn't all annoying right now. She could actually be helpful...as a distraction.

"You know, Jim," Melinda began. "I don't know why but this just popped into my head. A friend of yours popped into the shop awhile ago. Eva Turner?"

Jim blinked. "What?"

"I guess she saw the town name and while she was in my shop she remembered that Grandview was where you were now and took a chance on me knowing you," Melinda finished her long winded explanation with triumph, having fully distracted Jim by now.

"Eva Turner?" Jim reflected. "What did she look like?"

"Tall, beautiful, could have been a supermodel," Melinda hazarded before remembering that Eva said she'd been appearing to Jim in his dreams. Oh shit. She was in for it now.

"Blonde?" Jim asked, perking up. "Yeah, maybe. Full lips? Gorgeous?" He moved his hands as if about to trace an hourglass figure in the air but then seemed to remember that Melinda was a woman and might thereby be insulted by such tactics. "Do you know, did she say where I could find her?"

"So you do remember her," Melinda cheered. "That's too bad, because I read in the newspaper that..."

"I died, and my memorial is tomorrow at All Saints Chapel in the city," Eve quickly put in.

"She died," Melinda said and Jim looked oddly satisfied. "Her funeral...memorial is tomorrow at All Saints Chapel. In the city."

"Her obit said all that?" Jim asked.

"They often do," Melinda said just as Jessie emerged from the kitchen with Melinda's order.

"Oh, here's my order," Melinda said. "Good to see you, Jim."

He opened the door for her, obviously prepared to continue the conversation but she shot in front of him and caught Julie's eye.

"Wow, we have to be hurrying back to the shop, huh, Julie?" Melinda said loudly. "This took longer than we intended."

"It's Jim," Julie said loudly and Melinda stopped.

"Hey, Julie," Jim greeted. "Good to see you in less danger."

"Yeah, Julie said, tensing up and showing regret at her ill advised outburst.

"Well, you two look like you need to be going," Jim said. "I guess I do, too."

Melinda waved him off and hurried down the street.

"Wait, Melinda, I meant to ask you about Professor—"

Melinda, pretending she couldn't hear him, darted across the street with Julie next to her, not slowing until they were right outside Same As It Never Was.

"Okay, I know why I'm avoiding Jim, but why are you avoiding Jim?" Julie asked, taking her pumpkin custard and immediately taking a bite from the spot with the most caramel.

"He knows me too well, or he'd like to, I don't know," Melinda said. "Something about him just gives me the shivers. Not in a bad way, but in a...hot guy staring at you way."

"You don't really date, do you?" Julie asked.

"I got burned once," Melinda admitted, taking a bite of her own custard and relishing the creamy taste. "God, this is why I like custard better than ice cream. It's, like, twice as creamy."

"Melinda," Julie said patiently. "That doesn't have to do with this. Aren't you the one who's always saying people need to move on to find happiness? Don't you want happiness?"

"I don't need a man to be happy," Melinda said. "Apparently, I just need a bratty teen and a scoop of pumpkin custard."

It was proof of Julie's growth that she grinned at the moniker. "I'm not bratty. I just think that sometimes people we love need a push in the right direction."

Melinda realized that these were probably words that she'd said to Julie a few months before.

"And I'm not afraid to give that push," Julie finished, her voice getting a bit quieter.

Melinda knew that she'd definitely said those words. "You want me to date Jim?"

Julie shrugged. "Maybe you should be open to that possibility," she said. "He seems, I don't know, interested."

"Well, I'm not," Melinda said.

"Except in the shivers when a hot guy stares at you way?" Julie said.

"Okay, you have to stop repeating what you hear," Melinda mock scolded. "I don't know." And then Melinda really surprised herself. "I don't know if I'd want to pursue or even be open to something with Jim when I'm trying to figure out what something I have with someone else even is."

"What?" Julie asked, confused.

"Maybe there's someone else," Melinda said. "There are sparks. I don't know."

* * *

A/N: This might have a slight misstep. I think custard is solely a midwest thing and might not be found in upstate New York. But whatever. Custard really does taste better.

This was more of an introspective chapter. In some ways, it was filler. In my view, it was half filler and info dump. I hope you, the reader, doesn't feel that way though.

Please leave a line saying what you thought of it. I'm enjoying every one of your reviews and hope that my new (and old) readers are here to stay :)

And please mention if you caught the CM Easter egg and I'll give you a shout-out next time.


	9. Chapter Nine

Rick found it hard to concentrate as he walked to class the next morning. It was days since he'd seen Melinda and he was feeling a little...down, because of it. Melinda really grew on a person.

His ex-wife had been by to drop off the mail: a piece of information he'd requested from a professor friend who was now at the University of Chicago. He had a thing for the paranormal and so Rick had asked him to look into Romano for him, weeks ago when Melinda had first entered his life.

Apparently he'd lost Rick's address and had looked up Payne online; something Rick found extremely suspicious that he'd look up Rick and find Kate, since she'd taken her maiden name again after the divorce.

But whatever. Somehow, some way, Tom Dean , PhD, had gotten Kate's address and mailed it to her, something that made for a very unpleasant scene in his office after Jim had left that day.

It really made Rick worry. He was having trouble sleeping, what with thinking and worrying about what Jim could be achieving with Melinda.

He'd taken out his sleeping pills prescription and refilled it. That was what worried him most. He hadn't used the prescription since right after he'd divorced Kate. Since the day he'd said 'enough' to himself and stopped dwelling on the past; stopped dwelling on how Kate had cheated on him, how Kate had slept with her (still unknown to Rick) lover in their marriage bed.

And Rick hadn't had a clue.

He fingered the little bottle of pills as he waited for the top of the hour to arrive. Students were filtering in and out. He felt mildly relieved when Cat Jenkins walked in.

"Hey, Cat. You really had us worried there for a minute or two," he greeted her, showing uncharacteristic concern for a student and some of the students around her looked startled. "I mean, how does it reflect on me that you collapsed in my class?"

The students relaxed and Cat managed a smile. "Low blood sugar. I need to watch it better."

Rick thought that low blood sugar was a very weak explanation but remembered what he'd said to Jim about not concerning himself with his students' lives.

So he walked to the door and slammed it shut behind two startled girls.

"We're starting," he said. "Today we're talking about poltergeists, and how the human need to believe in something 'more' leads to reconciling perfectly normal events, like electrical problems or knocking, are really probably just your house creaking in the wind."

* * *

That night, Rick felt a restless urge as he prepared dinner. It was almost unidentifiable and it was definitely ignorable if he tried hard.

The chicken he was cutting slipped under his knife and he sliced his finger instead. He jerked away from the cutting board as blood stained his finger.

"Damn in," he muttered, thrusting his finger underneath running water and looking at the cutting board. The raw chicken stared back at him with insolence, daring him to make another cut. Rick narrowed his eyes at it as he put a makeshift bandage on his finger.

The chicken was put into the refrigerator (he'd like to throw it away but he wasn't paid that well) and he was grabbing a takeout menu for the local Korean place when he felt a cool breeze sweep through his open window.

Screw it. He'd go into Grandview to eat.

First things first, he grabbed his laptop. That one cafe on Main had free wifi and Rick had never really gotten used to dining alone. He just always had to have something or someone with him, though a someone was getting rarer and rarer these days. So now he took books, his laptop computer, students' homework...

(One particular student was very puzzled as to why there always seemed to be stains on his homework lately. He was one of Rick's less likable students, though to be fair, he didn't truly like any of his students.)

He left the house and stormed to his car, shoving the laptop onto the backseat and getting in the driver's seat before pausing; before stopping to calm himself down. He wasn't a stupid person. Bad things happened when you drove and didn't pay attention.

Dinner was spent madly researching things on his laptop and getting glared at by the cafe's proprietor, though, if you advertised free wifi, why the hell wouldn't you expect your customers to use the damn wifi while they ate?

He left the cafe late and walked toward the center of town with his mind distracted. And then he heard the sirens, and the noise of business; fear.

"What's going on?" He asked the woman running past him.

"There was a fire at a restaurant," she returned and he quirked a brow.

Good thing he hadn't gone there.

He walked forward, following the crowd. Human beings had always had a need for the macabre in their lives and Professor Payne had never pretended he wasn't one of them. There was a reason everyone stopped to look and stare at crime scenes and car accidents.

He watched the firemen at work; coming in and going out in rapid succession.

There was one, in particular, that caught his eye.

 _Jim. That's Jim, the handsome paramedic._

Of course. Of course it was.

Rick folded his arms over his chest, watching the scene unfold. Jim was helping a man out of the building and the man was panicking, insisting Jim go back for more.

"Hey, Jim!" Rick couldn't help himself. "Tell him he's lucky to have gotten out himself. He can't afford to be worrying about someone else right now."

Jim looked up and an expression of confusion crossed his face when he saw Rick standing there.

"Rick Payne, Rockland U," he called and Jim grinned, running to greet him.

"Hey, man, you were a lot of help the other day," he said. "Let me take you out to lunch to thank you."

"Was I really that much help?" Rick asked doubtfully, brushing off the invitation. "How hard is it to identify a cat? Theoretically, you could have used penthius and come up with the same result."

"Oh, no," Jim said. "Nothing could have helped me as much as you did. Come on, let me treat you."

"Why ask me?" Rick asked, secretly pleased.

"Maybe because the other person involved won't even look at me," Jim mumbled.

"What?" Rick said, snapping to attention.

"Melinda Gordon is a very hard woman to get a hold on," Jim said, clarifying.

Rick blinked at the handsome paramedic just as Jim's breath suddenly inhaled sharply. "There she is," he said in a tone that sounded like awe. "Oh, shit. I have to get back to work. Rick: tomorrow at 12."

With that, Jim darted away, looking behind him for a long moment, but not at Rick. At the woman standing a few feet away, her arms also folded over her chest and a look of anguish on her face.

Melinda.

Melinda Gordon.

He wanted to approach her but she saw him an instant too soon. Her eyes widened and she took a step back.

* * *

"Does this smell like smoke to you?" Melinda was asking her friend as Rick dared to walk into her shop.

"It reminds me of my clubbing days," Rick returned and Melinda jerked in surprise.

"What the...Professor Payne." Melinda said, coming to the counter.

"I can't tell you how many times I've been tempted to come in here," Rick said. "Before I met you, too." He quirked a brow at her and she blinked.

"Um. Delia Banks, this is Professor...Rick...Payne, from Rockland University. He teaches...he teaches..." Melinda trailed off, staring at him. Her arms again came up to fold over each other, a motion that pushed her breasts up but Melinda was doing in an expression of wariness.

"I teach the use of symbols in the world of the occult," Rick said, taking Delia's hand and shaking it firmly. "Man's need to believe in the..." He met Melinda's gaze, not paying attention to Delia at all. "Unbelievable." He purred the word and saw how Melinda stiffened, taking a step back as she had when he'd seen her earlier, at the fire.

"I think I'll go get some air freshener," Delia said, pulling her hand from Rick's with little to no effort and slipping out of the shop. The door rang as she did.

"I think we had a mutual acquaintance working the fire earlier," Rick said, walking forward and leaning on the counter.

"Don't lean on the counter," Melinda said automatically, and, when he straightened, she wiped the glass he'd been pressing against.

"Don't you want to know who it was?" Rick asked.

"It's a small town," Melinda said tiredly. "I think we knew a lot of the same people there."

"Yeah, but Jim's the only one to unite us," Rick said. "I think he recently used our combined knowledge to solve himself a mystery. Or write a book, if you believe that excuse."

"Jim is..." Melinda began and then couldn't seem to finish the sentence. "Acquaintance is the right word. I hardly know him. Surely you didn't come into the shop just to talk about a paramedic."

She moved restlessly, back to safety behind the counter. Her black jeans were fastened with a brown belt at the waist, and her ice blue shirt was tucked into her pants.

Rick liked the look; liked the way it emphasized her waist without getting too sexual. He couldn't handle too sexual at this time of day. Or night.

"Why are you open this late?" Rick asked.

"It's part of a promotional sale," Melinda said tiredly. "Most of the shops on Main are staying open until midnight this week. It has to do with homecoming."

Rick cocked his head. "Really? Has it been working?"

"It's been working to tire out all of the owners," Melinda scoffed. "It was a crappy idea but I'm stuck with it now. Aha," she said as Delia came back, walking to the door. "It's a quarter to twelve and no one is coming in," she told Delia. "I'll take care of things here. Go home."

"But I thought we agreed to spend the nights late to bond," Delia said.

Rick didn't miss the way that Melinda jerked her head at him and the way Delia's eyes widened. She handed Melinda the air freshener. "I'll go."

Melinda locked the front door behind her friend and turned around, leaning against it for a moment.

The world outside was pitch black but for the streetlights. It seemed that most of the other shops had given up before Melinda.

"You seem to be the last one standing," Rick said. "Congratulations. Did you sell...anything?"

"I did have a customer at eleven," Melinda said. "He bought a $0.25 needle."

"You sell needles?" Rick said.

"Never mind," Melinda said. "Why are you here again? Besides hassling me and bringing up doctors I don't even know? Sorry, paramedics."

It was painfully obvious how careful her 'mistake' had been. She was trying too hard to distance herself from Jim and Rick didn't like it at all.

"I miss you," he finally blurted and decided to make the most of honesty. "I miss you and your perfume and your crazy questions."

She stared at him, walking forward and shoving her hands into her pockets as if to hide them from view.

"Did I scare you off?" Rick continued. "You're avoiding me."

"Very intentionally," Melinda said. "Yes, I am avoiding you. No, you didn't scare me off."

She tipped her head to the ceiling and Rick followed her gaze.

"New neck exercise?"

"You could call it that," Melinda said, moving her head to look at the counter under Rick's hand."I don't scare, Professor Payne."

"You always seem scared when you run away from my office," Rick quipped.

"That's different," Melinda said. "I have a question for you."

"You always have a question for me," Rick exulted. "This time, let's talk a little return business. If you get a question, I get a question."

Melinda raised a brow. "You get as many questions as you want," she said archly.

Rick wondered what she was playing at. "How many professors does it take to screw...in a lightbulb?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, not missing the way he slowed at screw.

"Don't answer that," he said. "This is my question. My second. You said I could have as many as I wanted. Do you claim to have supernatural powers?"

"Define supernatural," Melinda said simply.

Rick's heart skipped a beat. Good god, was he actually getting somewhere with Melinda? Her hands were out of her pockets; again she was folding her arms in a protective gesture.

"Meaning not of this world," Rick said softly, breathing the words. "Do you _claim_ to be connected to the supernatural."

"Sometimes I do," Melinda said. "It feels that way." She tilted her head at him.

"How do you claim to be connected?" Rick demanded. "As many questions as I wanted."

"Mine first," Melinda said. "If somebody said, there's going to be five signs and then death would come, what would you think?"

"I would think about moving into witness protection," Rick said.

She glared at him. "This is serious."

"That is what scares me," he said lightly. "Aside from the five...wait. Five represents the unification of two, in the feminine element, and three, the masculine element. Five. Five represents the five senses, the five wounds of Christ, the five... the five pillars of piety. In Islam five is a big one. A powerful, strong number." His mind was working overtime to gather all of his information about fives and bring it to the forefront of his brain.

"Good?" He asked her. "That's my answer. Now for more of my questions."

"You're too easy," Melinda said, moving out from behind the counter and walking to the door, opening it and gesturing for him to walk through it. "I never promised answers."

"You little..." He stared at her, walking forward to where she stood. "Are you kidding me?"

"No, Professor Payne, I am not," Melinda said softly, staring up at him. "Farewell."

"What kind of gentleman leaves a woman to go home alone at night?" Rick stalled.

"You're no gentleman, Rick," Melinda said and the switch to his first name made him shiver. "And besides, who said I'd be alone?"

She stared up at him and he stared back until small hands shoved him out the door and locked it behind him.

Her words lingered with him as he walked to the town square to get his car. _Who said I'd be alone_?

Who the hell was walking with her? And why wasn't it him?


	10. Chapter Ten

Melinda and Delia stood in the club, staring at the lead singer. Jim was next to them; he'd appeared by them at the beginning of the evening and Melinda hadn't yet figured out how to politely get rid of him.

And oh lord, as the evening went on and the more alcohol was consumed, the less Melinda wanted to send away the handsome paramedic. She was sure that he could make her happy, and with ease and delight in doing so. And it would definitely be nice to be able to stop thinking about Rick for more than an hour at at time.

Still, Jim was such a good guy Melinda knew that he deserved to be more than a distraction.

On stage, the band in question finished a set, noticed someone in the crowd and a guy in his mid-twenties was being called to the stage to sing a song. Melinda turned to Delia to finish a nonsensical conversation about paper vs. cardboard when Melinda felt an unpleasant tingle she usually associated with being visited by a ghost.

On stage, the guy was nervously strapping on a guitar and readying himself to join the band for a song. Melinda saw the ghost then and flinched a moment before everyone else did, as bad feedback exploded from the guy's mike, flooding the room with painful sound that made everyone cover their ears.

And then she was head over her heels into another ghost's mission.

Whatever. She was used to it, and she definitely could handle it.

Jim grabbed her arm. "Let's get out of here," he urged and she only had time to nod before he was pulling her through the crowd towards the doors.

Delia waved at Melinda frantically before giving up and letting her leave with Jim. Melinda could have sworn that her friend mouthed, _what about Rick?_ before Melinda had quite left.

Outside, Jim rubbed his hands down his arms. "Chilly night," he commented, noticing Melinda's short sleeves.

"It was too warm inside so I don't mind the cool air," Melinda said, knowing perfectly well what opportunity she'd just missed. Taking his coat was not a step she wanted to take yet.

He nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets as though he feared he'd do something with them if he didn't take care.

She knew that Jim was attracted to her. She was okay with that. But even with his good looks, charm, kindness...She could very easily picture a future with him. The sex would be great. She could wake up to him bringing her breakfast in bed. They could have great looking kids together.

But something held her back. She refused to label that something as a someone...Rick Payne, in particular. No, Rick didn't have to do with it.

She just didn't have a future with Jim.

And she wondered if that was something she was obligated to tell Jim, too.

"So, Melinda," Jim began, his breath showing in the cooler air. She resisted the urge to shiver because she wouldn't be able to talk him out of giving her his coat.

"Yeah?" Melinda asked, distracted.

"I was wondering if you'd like to do something like this again," he said. "As a planned thing."

"As a date," she corrected and he had the grace to blush.

"Yeah," he said simply, and there was a smile in his voice.

"I don't know..." she began but he interrupted.

"It doesn't have to be serious," he said immediately. "Just a friendly date. I will not, I swear, go in for a kiss at the night's end even though I know I'll want to."

She almost laughed at the rushed, humorous but deadly serious words Jim was saying.

"I'll call you," she said, surprising herself. "So that's a maybe."

The smile he gave was soul shaking and Melinda was shocked that she could make this man so happy with such a simple thing. "That's enough for me."

* * *

"Back with more questions, Melinda Gordon?" Rick called as his office door opened behind him.

"You're positively uncanny sometimes," Melinda commented, actually sounding a bit startled that he'd known it was her without turning around.

"I know, aren't I?" Rick said happily, swirling around and almost moaning at how good she looked in her black dress, low cut as Melinda seemed apt to wear.

True, he preferred scoop necks over the v-neck she was currently wearing but he'd take what he could get. Hell, she could come in wearing a burlap sack and he'd still manage to get hard-on from just seeing her.

Speaking off...he moved behind his desk and pretended to look over the students' papers there.

"What is it this time?" He said. "I'm glad to see that you're no longer afraid of the big bad wolf, at any rate." He looked up at her and saw amusement in her eyes.

So he was back to amusing her instead of unnerving her.

Hmm. He'd take what he could get.

"Music," she began. "What kind of connections do spirits have to music? If someone was a musician, then after they died, how would they communicate with this world?"

"Be more specific," he said. "Miss Gordon, just cut to the chase."

She huffed, folding her arms. "You're beginning to know me too well, Professor Payne."

"The chase," he reminded, and continued to shuffle through papers on his desk. God, it was hard work pretending to be busy.

"There's this band in town who say that they have been cursed by a dead member," Melinda said and Rick exulted in the words.

He loved this woman's ability to make his life interesting. He just loved it.

"Elaborate a bit more," he urged and she explained the whole thing.

As she did, with a bit of arm waving and nodding, Rick could hardly take his eyes off of her. He remembered how happy he'd been in his first year of marriage to Kate. The first thing they'd always done upon getting home was pour each other a glass of wine and just sit around talking about their day, all of the crazy things that had happened.

He wondered when they'd stopped doing that. When Kate had no longer wanted to tell him things.

He watched Melinda, and a tightness began in his chest. She told the story so animatedly, beginning with how she'd been at a club and then there was trouble and so she talked to a few people who knew the band, blah blah blah.

"So?" Melinda asked, and he realized he'd completely zoned out.

"Let me get this straight," he fumbled. "The crimson-whatever-they-ares, they can't play music, and now they're blaming it on a curse?"

"Doves," she said. "Anyway, something's been getting in their way, and I think since the lead singer's ghost died just about the same time as they stopped being able to play, it might be related."

"You know what fascinates me about pop culture curses? The delusional weight that the fans attribute to the curse. Have you heard of the "Paul is dead" hoax?" Rick asked, moving to sit behind his desk. He was feeling comfortable in her presence and swung his feet onto his desk.

Melinda raised her eyebrows, but followed his suit, sitting down and smoothing her skirt. "As in McCartney?"

"In a nutshell, a bunch of Beatlemaniacs turned the volume way up on _Strawberry Fields Forever_ , and they think they hear _I buried Paul._ Next thing you know, rumors pop up that the cute one went toes-up in a car crash." Rick told it simply and marvelled at how Melinda was watching him, her eyes bright and alert. She wasn't glued to him but she was paying attention even to the randomness he was spouting now. It wasn't just about getting information from him anymore, was it?

"All right, admit were the Beatlemaniac who started that rumor," Melinda said, arching an eyebrow and he shook off the feeling of her actually paying attention gave him.

"Oh, sweetheart. You kidding me? If I started that rumor?" Rick could only imagine it but his mind wasn't on his words. "That would have been the best." Well, Melinda kissing him would be _the_ best, but starting an international incident was a close second in his mind.

"But it wasn't me. It was John Lennon's studio trickery. He said _cranberry sauce_. That was it." He tossed his hands in the air, showing his disappointment.

Now her eyes were just about to go into bored mode. Rick picked up the pace. "Now, you're talking about a physical manifestation, where people are actually getting ill, playing poorly?"

Melinda nodded, her ponytail bouncing with the motion. "Exactly, Professor."

She should say that word more. _Professor._ It was so sensual coming off of her tongue and so grating on others'.

"Well, there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of that. It's called infrasound," he said, going over to his stereo.

"What's that?" She asked, no shame in the fact that she didn't recognize it.

"Infrasound... is a frequency..." Rick said slowly, concentrating on the stereo and not on his words. "Like this." He turned it on.

Melinda flinched, clapping her hands to her head in a protective gesture. "Oh! Please don't do that. It sounds like nails on a chalkboard."

"Like nails on a chalkboard," Rick said at the same time. "See, different frequencies affect different people in different ways."

 _And you, Melinda, are one of the most different people I've ever met. Of course it affected her._

"But infrasound is a frequency so low that we can't even hear it at all. But human beings can feel it. It rattles our bones, it makes us sick. Now, the old wives' tale is that when ghosts want to make their presence felt, they use that frequency,"

"What about the young wives?" Melinda asked and Rick lost any and all coherent thought from the naughty look on her face.

"W-what?" He stammered and she shook her head, still smiling.

"Ok, so... say that the tale is true, and that the lead singer's ghost pulled a frequency through the amp and speakers, it could make someone sick, right?" She said, getting them back on topic.

"In theory," Rick said, reevaluating the woman in front of him for about the millionth time.

"Ok, so theoretically, how do we counteract it?" Melinda asked, impatience in her voice.

"Uh, well, you have to tune off of it. Go to the lowest "g" chord available on an electrical instrument. Uh, that would naturalize the vibrative harmonies and make the music a little less...stomach-churning." He watched how she took mental note of that, her hands going to her bag unconsciously as if to get a pad of paper before she shook the motion off.

"And what about the number 10?" She asked, standing up.

He hesitated to follow her, since she had suddenly become a vixen and her initiating the flirting was unnerving him to an extreme he didn't like to admit.

"That's a pretty broad topic. Does it have any relevance?" He asked.

"Would I be asking if it didn't?" Was her rejoinder; she leaned in to say it in a lower tone. "It keeps popping up."

"If it has something to do with your curse, I'll look into it," Rick said dizzily. "I'd look into the JFK conspiracy if you wanted me to. Hell, I'd get the truth out of those blasted FBI and politicians in DC."

"I'll make a note of that," Melinda said, again with amusement in her voice. She turned and walked to the door, pausing there to look behind her at Rick.

He held his breath.

"I just wanted to say—"She began but her phone rang. "Sorry. I should be going anyway."

"I don't mind waiting," he said, almost feeling panic that he wouldn't hear the end of her sentence.

He didn't think she even heard him; she'd already pulled out her cell phone and picked up.

"Hey, Delia," she said, waved to him and slipped out the door.

Rick sank down in his seat, staring around at him. The students' papers that he had pretended to be oh-so-important lay in front of him accusingly, daring him to work on grading them.

His arm swept out and he shoved them off the desk in a useless attempt to relieve him of his frustrations.

 _Why the change, Melinda? Why the change from bold to shy to bold again?_

The word that came to him made his teeth hurt.

 _Jim._

* * *

A/N: Next up: Cat's Claw.

Yes, you should be excited. It was watching that episode that had me start writing this.


	11. Chapter Eleven

The only thing that Melinda knew for certain was that she had a headache. A monstrous one, burning her entire skull. It wasn't helped by the fact that she'd felt guilted into actually working out today and she was freaking sore from all of the pushups her coach had had her do to make up for all the months she'd missed.

God, she was sore.

She slipped out of bed on wobbly legs, heading for the medicine cabinet. Her nightgown brushed against her legs in a seductive way; for a moment she felt like a teenager again, doing anything to get a buzz.

She reached for the painkiller in the cabinet and blinked, touching the mirror. There was something there...

Her head imploded. The pain was worse than it had ever been before and...then it was gone. So was Melinda.

She was standing in a rainforest, making her way through a jungle. She felt dizzy; disoriented.

When Julie found her, on the floor of the bathroom, Melinda had had no idea how long she'd been lying there.

"Are you okay?" Julie demanded, diving down to help her up.

"I'm fine, I think," Melinda gasped, sitting up as quickly as she could. Her head spun but the migraine was gone.

"What happened?" Julie asked.

"It...it was a vision, you don't need to worry about it," Melinda said, holding her head anyway. "I promise."

"Melinda, you could have hit your head on the sink's edge or something worse," Julie said, horrified. "This is...is there any way to stop them?"

"Get the ghost to cross over," Melinda said matter-of-factly. "It's literally the only way, Jules. I'm sorry."

Julie bit back something, swallowing her words as she helped Melinda up.

"I'm sorry, again," Melinda repeated. "I know that I'm supposed to be the one taking care of you. I want to be."

"You do," Julie said fiercely. "You take such good care of me, Melinda. That's why this is so scary."

Melinda leaned into Julie's embrace, thinking how far they'd come since she'd first taken Julie in. "We'll be okay, Jules. I promise."

* * *

Her headache was back the next day; the early morning sun hit her straight in the face as she hurried out to the car with Julie in tow and she tried hard to restrain herself from showing that anything was wrong; she didn't want to worry Julie.

Her foster daughter was very quiet today; she kept taking nervous peeks at Melinda, as if afraid she was going to suddenly disappear.

Melinda pulled up in front of the school. "Well, have a good day," she told her. "Check your lunch bag, I put a surprise in."

"No one cool packs their lunch anymore," Julie said, but Melinda saw the twitch of a smile on the teenager's lips.

"Very cool people do; people who care about the environment and people who don't want to eat the utter crap that they serve in the cafeteria," Melinda said. "If it's pizza day, okay. If not..."

"I know," Julie said, hoisting the bag high. "Thanks, Melinda."

"You're welcome," Melinda answered, and Julie slipped from the car. A thought came to mind and Melinda edged over on the seat, quickly opening the passenger window. "Hey, Julie?" She called.

Julie whipped around, a look of hope on her face at being recalled.

"Amanda Garret called; she said that one of her students cancelled, and that if you wanted to get an extra lesson in, she'd welcome you coming by after school," Melinda said. "You don't have to get back to her or anything, she just wanted you to have that option."

Julie's face lit up at the prospect of a bonus lesson. "Yeah, I'd like to do that, Melinda."

"I'll see you at home, then," Melinda said. "But not before dinner?"

"Yeah," Julie agreed. "Thanks!"

She rushed off inside and Melinda pulled away from the curb, thinking only of the pounding in her head.

* * *

Delia was waiting at the shop, leaning on her car. "Hey, Melinda!" She called as soon as Melinda pulled up. "I got this great stuff, come see!"

"Ooh, what?" Melinda wondered, still trying to hide her headache. She jumped from the car and hurried over to Delia's trunk. There was loads of old paraphernalia: a truck and some hat boxes jumped out at her in particular.

Delia seemed to have the same thought as she tugged the hat boxes from the car.

"I had this client who just bought an estate from probate," Delia said. "This little old lady owned the house, I guess, and she just had tons of things just lying around. She knew that I work with an antiques dealer now, so I brought them by."

Melinda opened one of the hat boxes, murmuring in appreciation at the hat she saw. "Beautiful, but not for me," she guessed, after seeing her reflection in Delia's car window.

"This is so me," Delia said, grabbing a fedora from a box.

The headache intensified.

Delia placed it on her head and Melinda was immediately struck by a vision of Romano, _she's mine_.

Melinda stepped back. "Take it off," she shouted, aware that her voice was too loud, too panicked. Passerby stopped and stared for a moment and as Delia whipped it from her head, she glanced in worry at Melinda.

"What's up, Melinda?" She wondered.

"Nothing, I just...spider," Melinda said. "There was a spider on the hat. So huge."

The hat fell to the curb as Delia leapt back in disgust. "Ohmygod, I hate spiders. Oh no."

"It's gone," Melinda said. "Into the sewer grate."

She squatted down to pick up the hat, shoved it into it's box and, for show, snatched the other hat boxes too. "I don't want another repeat of that," she said hurriedly. "I think I'll just get them drycleaned. You okay if I run a quick errand?"

"Of course," Delia said. "You go ahead."

"Thanks, Delia," Melinda said, going around to the driver's side of the car. "You really are a lifesaver," she called as she got in.

The last she saw of Delia was her waving, standing by the curb with a puzzled look on her face.

* * *

The headache surprised Melinda by ameliorating on the way over to Rockland U. It wasn't gone, no, that would be too fortuitous, but it was so much _less_ than it had been that Melinda was able to breathe again without feeling like her head would split in two.

She found herself speedwalking to Rick's office; the door was open and she took a chance and walked inside.

The first thing she saw was his butt. She halted immediately.

He had a nice ass, she realized, as the new view truly became him.

He was on his hands and knees under his desk, cursing up a storm. "Damn it, damn it, damn, damn, damn it!" He shouted, clambering to his feet and rifling through the contents of his desk; not for the first time, it would appear, from the mess it had already become.

He looked up then and saw her. He blinked for a moment and Melinda stepped further into the room, not giving him a chance to brush her off.

"How long were you standing there?" He asked, staring at her.

She wondered why. It wasn't like she was naked. She was dressed in a very plain, unsexy shift dress with her coat over her arm.

"Um—"

He shook his head. "You know what? It doesn't matter. I only have fifteen minutes before I _need_ to be at a lecture and I need to find my freaking keys so I can lock up." He narrowed his eyes at her. "Not that it stops some people, but, you know. It's still a basic security measure."

Melinda took the jab in stride; literally, since she turned right around and grabbed the keys from where they were poking out of the door.

Rick stared at her in wonder as she walked back towards him, placed the keys in his hand and started to speak. "It's okay now, and I only have fifteen minutes anyway."

"I did not leave my keys in the door," Rick said, his hands fumbling.

"Well, the proof is in the pudding, or...the door," Melinda said, wishing she'd never said the hackneyed words. "Not the point."

"Most assuredly not the point," Rick said, striding to the door. "I never leave my keys in the door."

"And we both know how well your lock works," Melinda bit back.

Rick slammed the door shut at the words. "I don't leave my keys in the door," he said a bit testily, walking back over to her. He stepped close to go around his desk and she had to resist a shiver just at the nearness of his presence.

"Everyone loses their keys sometimes," Melinda sighed. "Everyone forgets to lock up sometimes too!"

"No, do not go back to that," Rick said. "What do you want?" He asked, giving up and turning to look at what she was carrying. "Is that a cake?" He asked, the delight in his voice so genuine that Melinda almost wished it was, for one, bizarre second.

"No," she said, opening it. "It's...well, tell me if you recognize it."

Rick stared at it. His eyes widened; his pupils dilated.

Melinda felt her mouth actually drop open from surprise that he did.

"Is that..." The look of surprise on his face had her on edge even more than usual...and considering Rick, that was a hell of a lot.

"Is it what?" She breathed.

"A hat?" He asked, and a grin graced his lips.

"What is your problem?" She asked, dropping the hat unceremoniously back into the box.

Rick chuckled at her dismay. "It's a nice one," he scolded, taking from the box. "Wow, 1940s, genuine." He smiled at her; god, he could be so charming when he smiled. "What are you asking for it? And please tell me that this isn't just a call from a door to door antiques sales...woman, I'd be very disappointed."

"It's not," she replied. "For sale, either. That's not why I brought it."

"I might have guessed," he murmured, lifting it to his head.

"No!" Her hand jerked up before she could stop it, closing over his wrist and shoving it down. He let go of the hat and it fluttered to the floor.

"What are we scared of?" He asked, his eyes piercing hers. His use of 'we' sent shivers up her spine, as did touching his wrist.

She found it hard to let go. Suddenly, even joking, he was being genuine. 'We'. Somehow it meant a lot.

"I think it's Romano's hat," she whispered, still holding his wrist.

His eyes darkened as he looked down at their hands. "Romano?" He asked, voice hoarse.

She would have been angry at his forgetfulness but she couldn't bring herself to care. Not when they were this close, standing as they were.

The air between them felt heavier.

Melinda took a step back, breaking the spell completely by dropping his wrist and folding her arms over herself.

"The cult leader," she said, frustration showing in her voice, but it wasn't directed towards him, not really. It was all at herself...for being a coward. "The one _you_ told me about."

"Oh, him?" Rick asked in disappointment, ducking to pick up the hat.

She almost expected him to do something lewd like try to peek under her skirt but his eyes stayed on the hat, a frown on his face.

"You really think it belonged to him? So you brought it to me so I could determine for you if it meant anything terrible?" Rick asked.

She looked away from him; it was too hard to meet his gaze. She felt like her cheeks were burning up and her headache suddenly worsened.

She looked past him at the bookshelf, and a household god of sorts caught her eye...and something else did.

The rainforest vision came again and Melinda stumbled forward, lunging for the bookshelf.

Rick caught her just in time, grabbing her by the arm. "Careful," he said, his hands going to the god and steadying it. "We would be in for a really bad time if this little guy got knocked over." He frowned down at her. "You okay, Melinda?"

"I'm fine," she insisted. "What do you mean, trouble?"

"It's a mannequin used to treat sickness by shamans," Rick said. "I just saved a life. This guy stayed by the sick person's bedside while the witch doctor, whatever, did his business of charming. If he fell over, the patient would die. If he stayed upright, he was in the clear."

His hands jerked toward the mannequin, to push it over.

Melinda's hands flew forward again, a gasp falling from her lips. She stopped him just in time and he looked down at her in triumph.

"Whoa, someone's a little jumpy," he murmured.

Now she felt the gaze; the sweep over her body.

She couldn't bring herself to be angry.

"It falling over would mean impending death or severe drunkenness," Rick continued.

"Immediate or impending?" Melinda asked, jerking her hands back.

"What?" Rick asked.

"Would the severe drunkenness be impending like the death or would it be immediate, an after affect?" Melinda asked, her sarcasm thoroughly breaking the spell.

Rick stepped back.

"I think I've seen this," Melinda admitted, knowing that it matched the one in the rainforest.

"Where?" Rick wondered, going back to staring.

"A museum," she said. "I guess. Um. Where did you...you get it?"

Her headache was making her foggy. She shook it and Rick's face spun in front of hers.

"It was given to me by a member of the Michigangwa tribe," Rick said. "I almost died getting it, you know. Speaking of impending death and almost dying, I will so be in for it if I'm late to this thing."

He turned and started for the door, grabbing his briefcase on the way.

Melinda, head spinning, hurried after him, barely managing to grab the hatbox and her coat before Rick locked the door. "What, would you have locked me in?"

"It might have been safer," he shot back.

"That was not fifteen minutes," she said, panicked. Her world began to spin; Rick was walking too quickly and while he wasn't as tall as some men were he still outpaced her by far.

"Baby, when you bought your ticket for this crazy train, you agreed to be on Payne time," he said, no apology in his voice.

"Professor," she protested.

"I was three weeks in Peru, if you must know," he began. "Documenting customs for my beloved university. Blah blah, beliefs, junk. I came across this custom called cannima, it's the killing of enemies and the consumption of a very unappetizing dish, I won't tell you the ingredients. I almost ate some. To this day, I prefer to believe it was an assassination attempt but that's just more exciting."

"Professor," she started again. "Can I just—"

He started forward and she instinctively started after him.

"This, I should really do by myself," he said, and she halted upon realizing he was standing in front of the men's room.

God.

No wonder he'd been in a hurry though.

* * *

A/N: Reviews help me to know that people are still reading. Just a thought.


	12. Chapter Twelve

Rick only knew that he'd stubbed his toe and, thank god, the auditorium was dark.

He sat in his seat and considered rubbing his foot but there were two women in short skirts next to him and he was afraid of being called out as a pervert.

Which he certainly could be, at the right times, but he didn't want to be right now. Not at all.

No, he was here to support a very good friend of his...

He glanced as the presenter made her way onto the stage. _Nice legs. What's her name again?_

 _Oh yeah. Penn Grogan. Good friend._

He was just getting into the lecture, meaning that he'd forced himself to concentrate on what she was saying and not how good she'd look in a pair of shirts, when out of the corner of his eye, he saw a waterfall of brunette curls cascading down a very familiar back as the owner of said waterfall and back edged her way into a seat that just happened to be almost right in front of him.

Melinda Gordon. What the hell?

Or maybe he shouldn't have been surprised.

He sighed, the loud exhale startling the women next to him into edging away slightly on the wooden chairs. Whoops.

He found himself staring at Melinda; wishing that she'd worn a ponytail so that he could see the graceful curve of her neck...he loved her neck, he realized. Sometimes he just wanted to bury himself in it, feasting on the soft skin there. He'd leave marks all over, none that could be covered up with a turtleneck.

Oh god.

Bad idea.

If the women next to him noticed what was happening now, they'd really call him out.

He carefully lowered his brochure onto his lap just in time for all pandemonium to break loose. Dr. Grogan started to stutter—a clear sign that something was wrong for the smooth spoken women—and then a monstrous wave of feedback hit everyone's ears. Her research notes went flying and the projector behind her started to shriek, and then it exploded altogether in a flash of sparks and another wave of feedback.

"I don't know what's happening," Dr. Grogan began, her voice stumbling over what must have been unfamiliar words for the professor.

Rick threw all caution to the wind and stood up, ready to help her, just in time for the projector to fully explode in a flash of sparks.

There. Erection evaporated from pure terror.

The women beside him were fleeing anyway; as was everyone, including Dr. Grogan.

It took him a moment to realize that the only person in the whole auditorium who was still seated was Melinda Gordon. She turned her head to watch Dr. Grogan as she stumbled past, and Rick was hardpressed to find a word to describe the look on Melinda's face as he raced after Dr. Grogan.

He was outside before he realized that Melinda was on his tail...but no, she was racing past him, giving Rick a glimpse of her toned legs in a tight pair of jeans. God, that woman knew how to dress.

"Dr. Grogan, I need to talk to you, just give me a minute," Melinda was saying as Rick paused to watch the two women interact.

"Not right now, just not right now," Grogan insisted.

Rick folded his arms when Melinda continued to press, until Grogan took off down the steps.

He saw Melinda turn around, see him standing there and she raised her eyebrows as if urging him on.

 _What the hell?_

Their eyes met in a moment that seemed to freeze time and then Rick was leaping after Dr. Grogan, hurrying down the steps himself.

"Are you okay?" He blurted, and the paleness of her face answered him.

"All sorts of this shit just keeps happening to me," she admitted, scraping a hand over her face. "I have no earthly explanation for any of it." She buried her face in her hands and Rick placed a hand on her shoulder, moving it in soothing circles. He wondered at her choice of words _earthly explanation_ and looked up at Melinda.

She shrugged and then nodded her head towards the fountain before walking that way.

She wanted him to follow her when he was done talking to Grogan.

Huh.

* * *

"You always manage to surprise a man," Rick said, strolling up to Melinda. She sat on the edge of the fountain, lazily dragging her hand over the surface. "You showed up in that lecture and tell me, Miss Gordon, what interest do you have in medicinal plants?"

She glanced up at him and stood up. "That was longer than I'd thought it'd be," she commented.

"You were the one lying in wait for me," he said.

"No, I invited you to follow me with my body language and you accepted my invitation or you wouldn't be here," Melinda replied.

He sighed. "You always have to have the upper hand."

"I don't have to have anything," Melinda said and tipped her head. "To get back to your question...I like flowers."

"Really?" He asked, beginning to walk in the direction of his office. God, it felt good when she started to walk after him. It was like she actually cared and didn't just want to fill his head with questions that he could answer and questions that she wouldn't. "Anything in particular?"

"Una de gato," she replied.

"That's one ugly flower, be honest," he shot back.

"I like some things that aren't pretty on the surface," she said. "What about you?"

"I like my beauty to be _at least_ skin deep or I won't take a second look," he cracked.

"I meant with flowers," she snapped. "What flowers do you like?"

"I don't, I was strictly there for Dr. Grogan. She's...a very old friend," he said, his voice ending on a lower note than he'd intended.

He saw her brows knit together with the words.

"Is...she okay?" Melinda asked as they walked.

"She's going through a very hard time, getting pressure put on her by Rockland U; she's got personal issues too," he said, pausing at the top of a staircase so he could actually look at Melinda.

Did she...?

Did she really get more intriguing every time he saw her?

"It's difficult being the top of one's field...as I very well know," Rick added on, and Melinda didn't roll her eyes like he thought she would. Instead she folded her arms like she was actually interested. "I thought you said this was about liking flowers."

"I'd also like to know if someone died on her expedition," Melinda said. "The one Dr. Grogan went on. Your friend."

What an odd way to phrase it.

"How did you know...to ask?" Rick murmured. Someone jostled him from behind, forcing him to step closer to Melinda. He caught an inhale of her shampoo or body lotion or perfume or whatever she was wearing that made her smell so damn...takable.

He jumped away and started to speedwalk to his office. "Come on," he called, and oh, it felt so good when she again followed him without a second thought.

* * *

"Martin Schaer was one of our premier research scientists," Rick enthused, doing anything to distract himself as he unlocked his office door and let them in. "Amazing writer. He wrote a book; I have to have it here somewhere..." He could feel Melinda's presence behind him as he looked and it made his skin tingle in ways that weren't entirely unpleasant. Oh god. "This guy had it all," he murmured, his hands flying over the books on the case, from the 's' section to the 'r' section and back. What the hell? "He had charisma, and brains and raw talent. Such a good professor. I know, I know, it sounds like I'm describing me," he joked, turning to the table and rifling through the books there but it was still nowhere in sight.

"Seriously...Martin was one of the greats," Rick said softly, coming to the picture he still had sitting on the extra desk in his office. "Here he is. Oh, Melinda. He played racquetball with me, he was the only guy who could beat me at racquetball. I'm good at racquetball. I've barely played...since he left."

Melinda nodded solemnly, crossing her arms again.

"Some species of plants were even named after him," Rick finished.

"You were friends too," Melinda stated.

"Definitely," Rick said. "He'd always bring me back something new from his expeditions, to fund my 'collection'. I had no interest in starting one, or any resources, and he singlehandedly started the Professor Payne junk museum. But it's not junk. It's from him."

He gestured around his office, almost feeling a tightness of throat as he glanced at all of the gifts he could point to that had very distinct, Marty related memories attached to them. The picture, the flute...

"He died on the expedition with Dr. Grogan, yeah," he began again, clearing his throat to get through the words. "Not in a nice way. Um."

"And Dr. Grogan?" Melinda urged.

"It made her famous. She got all the accolades and awards, all the kudos they could throw at her. Some people think she didn't deserve it since it was Martin who was the driving force behind that expedition and she took advantage of his death because he was her mentor, but. he's dead, she's not. She looks great in a pair of shorts, and she's got brains and talent, and when you look like she does and you can go into the jungle and hang out with guys that sharpen their teeth with files, you're gonna get a lot of attention. And whenever I see Dr. Grogan, I think to myself, has she got a body or what?"

Rick realized that he was talking about a mile a minute and slowed down to see the look of disgust on Melinda's face.

"At least it's not just me you think about like that," she said dryly.

 _Oh, it's just you. Like_ that, _Melinda. Just...just you._

"I usually think like that as defense mechanism so I don't get too attached to humanity," he continued, and a flash went off in Melinda's eyes, of clear anger that quickly evaporated as she looked at him longer.

Her gaze travelled down his body and he was beginning to think that she was checking him out when she grabbed his hand and jerked it up. The look on her face was pure shock.

"I've never seen you wear a ring before," she said.

To be perfectly honest, she hadn't. He only put it on when out-of-town colleagues came to town and he didn't want them to know that he'd gone through the Big Dreaded 'D'. He'd put it on so that Grogan got only the best impression of him and he hadn't taken it off.

What was that on Melinda's face?

Jealousy?

"You have to treat your wife differently," she said, dropping his hand and folding her arms tight over her chest. He saw her fingers twitch, as if itching to grab his hand again.

Was she just a snoop or...could it finally be a signal of more from Melinda Gordon?

"I don't have to be quite as charming, actually," he said, deciding to move on. "Where is that damn book? I alphabetize my library, where the hell...?"

"Does the bookstore have it?" Melinda asked, her voice sounding tight.

"Cat's Claw...It was right here, for freaking..." Rick exhaled. "Yeah, the bookstore has it."

"Then I'll just buy a copy, since someone seems to have borrowed yours," Melinda said and began to move away from him.

"But I don't lend things, period," Rick exclaimed as she started for the door.

He waved her off, turning back to the bookshelf in frustration. "Why are you so interested in this all of a sudden?" He asked, turning around.

She paused by the door.

"Do you think she had something to do with Marty's death?" Rick asked, starting forward, unable to process that thought.

Melinda looked like she was ready to liftoff at any second and he found himself grabbing her by the wrist; holding tight.

It felt so good to return the favor.

"I don't know," she said, trying to tug her wrist away but he pulled her even closer.

"Why were you at the lecture then, to ask Grogan...what?" He wondered and she exhaled; he felt her breath hit his cheek.

"I need to read the book first," she said, moving out of his office and only succeeding in pulling him along with her.

"Your circle talking will only work for so long, you know that I know what you're doing, right?" Rick demanded, finally dropping her wrist after one more tug from her.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "How would I know that?"

"You're doing it right now, Miss Gordon," he said, hurrying after her. For such a short woman, she could certainly walk fast. Then again, she'd always managed to keep up with him before now.

"I don't think you find my ideas very interesting," she hedged, moving away from him and he moved closer.

"Just because I'm rude, snide and sarcastic doesn't mean that I'm not interested," he insisted.

"Just tell me..." She began, whirling to face him so suddenly that he almost walked into her. "If you see something weird."

With that, she hurried away down the steps.

Well, he'd let her go. The bookstore would be closing early; it was Friday.

He sighed and headed back to his office, slamming the door behind him. He had more _stuff_ to do. He always had more lectures to plan and papers to grade and oh, freaking Clyde, where were his keys now?

He lifted a paper and walked to the bookshelf...and there, in the 's' section was _Cat's Claw_ by Martin Schaer.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered, snatching the book. "Where were you earlier?" He moved to sit at his desk, staring at the book that had suddenly become so freaking involved in his life, and when he looked up at his desk, another curse word slipped past his lips.

The shaman's mannequin stood there, staring at him. There was no way.

There was no way. It had been on the shelf, Melinda hadn't moved it...

He'd left his office door open. Someone had walked in and moved it as a prank; someone who knew how much it could freak him out.

He slammed the book on his desk and picked up the mannequin, returning it to the shelf without so much as double checking the placement as he slammed the statue down. He didn't need more of this...

"Damn it!" He said, almost jumping back when the book wasn't on his desk and he turned around...it was back on the shelf. Was his mind going? Already? Really? He dived for the book but then as he headed back to his desk his head spun in a circle.

Good god, the mannequin wasn't on the shelf anymore.

Pivoting on one foot revealed to his crazed eyes that it perched confidently on his desk again.

And it wasn't standing upright this time.

He felt a very unpleasant tingle now.

* * *

A/N: **Please** make sure to review the previous chapter too! I'd really appreciate knowing your thoughts on this. I think my chapters on Cat's Claw won't be over anytime soon! I have at least one left, maybe two if I keep going at this rate.

God, I love that episode. Best Rick Payne episode for sure.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

A/N: I think I'm dying of how much I LOVE this episode and Rick Payne and the whole scene, gah! I've rewatched the episode (well, the Rick parts) about three times now and yes, oh yes, it's why I started writing this.

So there are about four (or five, depending if you split it at the end) main interactions between Rick and Melinda and each are getting their 2K words. I'm thinking I'll probably do three more (including this one) so five in all for Cat's Claw.

Because it's that awesome. Period.

* * *

Rick barely managed to dismiss his thoughts and leave the drama at the office as he drove home. He cranked up the radio, listening to some rock band to which he had no idea of the name but it was _loud_ and drowned out his thoughts better than silence could.

His hands tapped the wheel and he pressed his lips together. He had a habit of talking to himself when nervous or agitated and right now it was unfortunately coming out.

"Just why?" He finally exploded as he reached the stop sign before his house. "Why is everything so...? Grr."

He squeezed the steering wheel as if it were her pretty neck, feeling his mind spinning out of control into thoughts that he couldn't rein in.

Melinda.

Questions.

The ones she asked him.

The ones he was somehow never able to ask her.

How she'd gotten into his office.

Seriously, though, what the hell was that?

There were theories that he had. There were some that he didn't even dare consider in the light of day.

He pulled into his driveway and headed into the house, gripping his briefcase in a white knuckled grip.

He went immediately to the refrigerator, pulling out a beer without a second thought.

And then it happened.

Another mind trick.

The door upstairs slammed, very obviously.

There were no footsteps to correspond to it. There was nothing to show that anyone was in the house with him. And he _definitely_ hadn't left the windows open. Rick Payne did not leave windows open.

Though there were a damned amount of things that kept happening that Rick Payne didn't do. Like lose his keys. And his mind. And any ounce of sanity that he might have once possessed.

 _Melinda._

He tipped the bottle back and the beer poured into his mouth, drowning out breath and thought for a few blessed moments.

 _Melinda._

No. He didn't want to.

The bottle of beer emptied and he tossed it into the sink, panting as he stood there. No. He wasn't going to do this. He wasn't.

He grabbed another bottle of beer from the refrigerator, saw the vodka sitting on the kitchen counter and momentarily considered it.

No.

No.

He wanted to be drunk, to be sure.

He didn't want to be that drunk.

He wanted to be able to remember the look on her face. He wanted to remember what he said. What she said in return.

The bottle drained.

Rick grabbed his car keys and ran out the door. He didn't know where she lived but he'd figure it out.

* * *

Melinda answered the phone with trepidation. "Hello?"

"Hey, Melinda, I'm just calling to say that my lesson with Amanda went way over time," Julie's voice chirped. "And she just invited me to stay to dinner."

"Wow, really?" Melinda asked. "I hoped something like that had happened and I didn't want to bother you two."

"We're fine, I just wish I'd remembered to call. I know how I hate worrying," Julie said, her voice a bit darker.

"You go ahead and have dinner there," Melinda said.

"Actually," Julie began, hesitating. "We were going to go out. Mr. Garret and Amanda had already planned on it, so..." The worry in Julie's voice impressed on Melinda's heart. Did she actually think her rare request for socialization would be denied?

"Where are you going?"

"To the fancier pizza place in town, not Pizza Hut," Julie said. "Can I?"

"Of course, Maciano's has better cooking than I do any day," Melinda scolded. "I have just one rule for you, Julie."

"What?" Julie asked.

"Have fun," Melinda emphasized. "Now let me talk to Amanda for a minute."

"Of course," Julie exclaimed.

A moment and the phone had been passed. "We were planning to do it to celebrate Nick's getting onto the baseball team," Amanda explained. "And I kept Julie so long, it just made sense. And she's so close to our boys."

"It's no problem at all, I just wanted to double check. I'm new at this whole parenting thing, you know," Melinda said. "Thanks for inviting her, Amanda. I know she'll have a good time."

"Thanks for letting her go," Amanda said, pausing. "You know, Melinda...you're so lucky to have her. I...for a moment there, I'd considered taking her myself but by the time Dave and I got certified as foster parents, I had no idea what might have happened to her."

"I know," Melinda said. "Though...you could definitely still work on getting certified."

"That is a good idea," Amanda said. "Thank you. We'll have her home by nine."

"Don't hurry," Melinda replied and press the 'off' button.

She walked upstairs, hips swaying as she headed for the bedroom. If Julie wasn't coming home, she'd change into something more comfortable. She'd toned down on the see through/lacy nightgowns since Julie had come to live with her, but sexy nightwear was still Melinda's preferred way to spend her time relaxing.

She slipped into a short silk nighty and pulled a lace robe over it, tying it thoughtfully as she looked in the mirror.

Was she beautiful? She had no idea. No man had ever called her beautiful, not in those words.

She reached her hands up and brushed her hair back, pulling it into a lazy bun at the last second.

Well, well. What would she have for dinner then?

She was downstairs in the kitchen, trying to puzzle out a recipe for chicken flambe when there was a pounding at the door.

Hmm?

Was it Amanda, early? Did something happen at the restaurant?

Worry gave her feet wings and she threw the door open...

Only to find Rick Payne standing on the other side.

"You saw me, you can't deny it now," Rick said. "And you let me in."

He moved into the house on unsteady feet before turning to face her.

Her head hurt. The headache had never fully left and now it was back in full force.

* * *

God, what the hell was Melinda wearing?

It was something that didn't seem to cover enough skin by any meaning of the word. Some sort of scandalously short nighty under a completely see through and useless lace robe.

"Am I interrupting something?" He drawled, leaning against the wall to calm his nerves and keep him steady.

"No, not at all," Melinda murmured, crossing her arms over her exposed and vulnerable breasts. "What are you doing here? Drunk, I might add."

"We need to talk," he stuttered, the words not making it to his mouth as smoothly as he wanted them to. Maybe he should have only had two beers instead of going back for a third.

"You're drunk," Melinda repeated, emphasizing the words.

"Statement or question?" Rick wondered, leaning in to her and she shied out of the way.

"What do you want?" She wondered, looking down. She was uncomfortable. Why? Why was she uncomfortable?

Was Jim upstairs? Was that why she was wearing the sexy nighty?

Oh! What had she just said?

"What do I want?" He asked, moving further into the house and turning to face her again. He couldn't help letting his eyes rove over her body again, from the hem of her short nighty to her feet...god, what legs. He could _die_ in those legs.

"What do I want?" He asked again, stumbling forward and pinning her to the wall for too brief a moment. "I want to know what it is that you _do,_ Melinda Gordon."

"I don't want to do this, you shouldn't be doing this," Melinda replied, flinching out from under his grip.

"The world is filled with people doing things that they shouldn't do...people who sleep with other people's wives...people getting killed...Iraq," Rick finished, going into her living room only to realize that it made a loop and he was standing right where he'd started, staring at Melinda, who was too sexy for words right now, too beautiful for his drunk brain to comprehend.

* * *

"What is your deal, lady?" Rick questioned, throwing his hands in the air. "What is your _deal_?"

Melinda felt terror, not because he was drunk but because of what he was asking of her.

Was he really asking it? Would he accept the answer?

She felt a lump come to her throat. No. There was no way that Rick Payne, skeptic extraordinaire, would accept anything she said. He'd just chalk it up to...faulty wiring.

She let out a frantic gasp that almost turned into a sob as he continued to speak.

"What is going on?" He asked. "You come to me with questions, with Romano and his hat. And then you draw me pictures. Oh, not very good pictures, Miss Gordon." He wagged a finger. "Not very good, Melinda. Very bad. Naughty. And things start going bump in the night...I do not like bump in the night, I do not believe in bump in the night. I don't get it," he finished and Melinda clutched her arms to her even harder.

"Symbols and numbers and music..." Rick restarted and began to walk towards her. She backed up against the door; a mistake. He paused. "How long have you lived here, Melinda Gordon?"

Wait, what? "Almost two years," she blurted, the question confusing her.

"Ha, you passed! That was a test, and you actually passed," Rick said, moving forward again. "I wanted to give you an easy question that you'd have to answer honestly before giving you a hard one," he murmured.

He looked at her closer, his eyes burning into her. She a shortness of breath start. He was so close.

"I guess you aren't dressed up like this for someone special or I'd be pulling someone's fist out of my face," he whispered, fisting the material at her waist in his hand.

"I can punch you myself; there's still time for that," she managed to say and he chuckled, dropping the material.

"The good thing about being drunk is feeling invulnerable, Melinda," he whispered. "I wouldn't stop if you did punch me. And you wouldn't."

He moved away again.

"Eventually you won't," she managed.

"Then let's get going," he whispered back, his voice carrying in the dead silence of the house. She could feel her heart beat in her ears.

"It's not like you're writing a book," he said. "You aren't, Melinda. Melinda Gordon. You've got something inside of you, something big and special. Your store doesn't mean much. That's a front. For what you _do_ , Melinda. It doesn't matter if you say it is or isn't true because I know it is, it's a front."

"If you know it's true, why are you here?" Melinda wondered.

"Because I don't even know what I know anymore," Rick said, trying to sit down and missing the stool.

Against her better judgment she moved forward, uncrossing her arms to help him up.

Her neckline gaped.

So did his eyes.

"I'm trying to make sense of anything. Why are you interested in jungle plants?" He wondered, shaking her hands off of him in a move that floored her. Rick Payne, not letting a woman touch him?

"You want to know about my kanaima manikin?" He shrugged. "You want to know about Dr. Grogan. You want to talk about a lot of things, Melinda Gordon, anything except for—"

"I really don't want to talk to you right now," Melinda said sharply, cutting him off finally.

"Exactly!" Rick crowed. "Anything but the truth. I have to stop this, Melinda Gordon."

"Stop what?" She asked, her voice breaking.

"Seeing you, before I get so involved that I can't extricate myself from a woman who can do things, things that are probably just smoke and mirrors and rabbits out of hats...picking locks and lying about it...I never looked good in hats, Melinda Gordon."

He stepped forward.

* * *

The look on Melinda's face made him pause.

So did everything about her.

"Is your rabbit dead or alive?" He wondered, stepping forward one last time.

"What does that mean?" She asked.

"It means...I don't know," he whispered and reached her.

Her cheeks were soft when he placed his hands on them.

So were her lips when he finally leaned down and met them with his own.

Oh, oh. This was even better than he'd ever imagined.

She was soft against him, so soft. He could feel softness and bumps against his chest and stomach, not just from the silk or lace of her clothes.

If only he wasn't drunk. It would be even better.

Then again, it wouldn't be happening if he wasn't drunk.

Sad how those things worked.

Was she kissing him back? He thought she was.

He blessed the power of alcohol as he tipped her chin back and kissed down her neck, his lips following a path as old as time, as primal as cave men, as instinctual and need driven as...as...

His hands came up to cup her breasts.

His train of thought abruptly derailed.

Melinda pulled away.

"I should call you a cab," she whispered, her voice not quite working. "Before we both do something..."

"You can call me a cab, you can call me an ass, too, if you want," Rick teased. "But I won't be in or in either one." He reached behind her, fumbling for the doorknob. His arm was touching her hip.

Oh. Her hip.

The doorknob finally slipped open.

"I'm leaving," he announced. "Never to see you again."

She just stared at him, daring him to go. Her eyes were dark and accusing. He wondered what she wanted. She'd been the one to pull away.

Then again, he'd been the drunk one.

* * *

Her head pounded, it was still killing her.

"Go," Melinda said and shut the door behind him. She leaned against it, feeling weak and not from pleasure.

Why had she kissed him back? Why did he have to be such a skilled kisser even when inebriated? What the hell did Rick Payne _do_ with his free time?

Her heart ached. She didn't want him to go but now she knew that this whole thing had been a huge, colossal mistake. Of course she should never have gone to someone with questions like she had. Not if she was unwilling to tell him her secret, and she'd known from the first that she'd never be willing to tell _him._

And yet.

Not willing.

But wanting.

She wanted to tell him. Her whole heart ached to tell him, to tell someone, anyone...to tell Rick Payne in particular. Let the pieces fall where they may.

Melinda Gordon needed help.

And he was gone.

She pushed away from the door, wondering why Rick hadn't started his car yet.

"You stole my keys!"

She jerked to attention, knowing what was coming. Steeling herself, she walked to the kitchen and slid on a pair of clogs, tying a coat around her waist tightly before going outside to where Rick Payne was throwing a fit on her front lawn.

"What do you want now?" She shouted.

"You took my keys, you must have, when you grabbed me, when I kissed you, that's why you kissed back," Rick said, from where he lay sprawled on the lawn.

"For god's sake, get up," she told him, leaning to take his arm.

And everything changed. He morphed into Martin Schaer and she could see his presence behind the professor.

"Go to Dr. Grogan, now," Martin spoke through Rick and Melinda's heart froze.

Oh no.

Please god, no.

Damn it. Damn her bleeding heart.

"Where does Dr. Grogan live?" She asked Rick, the words a curse.

"Who the hell cares? What the hell was that?" He asked. "I talked but those weren't my words!"

"Where does she live?" She asked again.

Rick stared at her. "We can take your car," he offered.

* * *

A/N: Reasoning for Kate not being dead:

It's definitely not because I hadn't realized she _was_ dead when I started this story!

Oh. Wait.

That's completely the reason.

BUT! It's going to work out because I hated how they took care of that storyline in Dead Beat Dads so I'm looking forward to shaking that up.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Melinda pulled him into the jeep beside her, careening out of the driveway.

"Do you actually know where she lives?" She asked, voice furious.

Rick's confused mind just tried to begin processing what had just happened. "Why are we going there? What does she have to do with this?"

"We'll find out when we get there," Melinda replied, her short reply cutting at him. "Right or left?"

"Straight," Rick countered and Melinda floored it after a perfunctory stop at a stop sign. He jerked back in his seat, wondering where this Melinda had come from...or if this was the Melinda he'd been hoping to see the whole time, the one he could always tell lurked beneath her smooth and flighty exterior.

Rick mentally catalogued each body part again. There was blood in his mouth. Why was there blood in his mouth? Did Melinda bite his tongue? No, it wasn't a french kiss. That was crap.

"I'm bleeding, I need to get to a hospital," he began, his voice unsteady because he wasn't sure if he was bleeding. There was no sore part, no outstanding tenderness.

"It's not yours," Melinda replied shortly. "Which way now?"

"Left," he murmured. "It's not my blood. Why does that not make me feel better?"

"Because you're a disbelieving cynic," she snapped. "Now?"

"Left again, and it's this house on the right," Rick said, pointing it out. Melinda slammed on the brakes so hard that he got whiplash, slamming back into his seat. "Crap. Are you getting out? Should I get out?"

"I don't care," Melinda replied, slamming her door shut behind her and running towards the house. She'd put on an overcoat over her nighty and robe but it doesn't go all the way down her legs; there's lace revealing shapely legs.

Rick can't help but pursue that vision.

"Maybe she's not home," he offered, coming up to the house to find Melinda frantically checking the windows.

"There's something wrong, something is happening inside this house," Melinda shot back. "She's inside." She tried the knob before turning to him. "Break down the door."

"No!" His answer was immediate but so was her response.

"Fine, I'll do it," she said, backing up and charging. At the last second, he stepped in front of her, cushioning the slam and her soft body rammed him into the door. "What the hell, Rick?"

"I'll do it," he said, stepping back and ramming it with his shoulders. His hazy, drunken mind reminded him that this wasn't the best way to do it; the best method was to kick the door but he too busy stumbling forward and falling to the floor to mind it. Melinda leaped over his prone body, racing into the house.

"I killed him."

The words pierced his drunken brain. Was that Dr. Grogan speaking?

"I killed Martin," Dr. Grogan sobbed and Rick stumbled to his feet.

Melinda was standing by a frantic Grogan, holding onto her. "You have to stay calm, you have to—Rick, call 911!"

"What?" He asked, staring around him for a phone.

"Call freaking 911!" She almost screamed at him and he dived for the phone.

* * *

When the ambulance arrived, and the paramedics took Grogan away, Melinda collapsed to the ground on shaky legs. Her head had pounded all throughout the encounter and now she felt dizzy as well as panicked.

"Whoa, are you okay? Now that Grogan is safe, maybe we need to check out you," Jim said, bursting out of the crowd of paramedics.

"I'm okay," Melinda replied, looking up at his handsome and worried face. "I'm just...freaked out."

"No wonder, considering the scene you walked into," Jim replied, reaching a hand down to help her up. She took it but her grip was shaking too much. She tried to focus but the pounding in her head forestalled any efforts there. In the end, Jim moved his hands to hook under her armpits and pulled her up to standing, cradling her close to him for a moment. "Are you sure you're okay? You're still shaking."

"I know," she said. "That's not...this isn't the full reason why. Dr. Grogan, I mean."

"How did you know to be here?" Jim asked, his hands slipping to rest by his sides.

"I didn't, I mean, someone just told me that Dr. Grogan was in trouble," Melinda said, wiping a tearless eye. "I was at home and I just raced over here."

"Do you know Dr. Grogan well? How did you know where she lived?" Jim asked. "Who told you?"

"It was an anonymous thing," Melinda whispered. "Um. I don't know why they told me."

"How did you know where she lived? Did you know her well?" Jim repeated, his voice gentle but there was a forceful undertone now.

"I've been trying to contact her, get her to answer a few questions that I had for her," Melinda replied. "And..."

"I told her where she lived."

Rick Payne's voice suddenly inserted itself into the conversation. She wondered where he'd been up until now.

"Professor!"

There was clear delight in Jim's voice. "How are you? You never did call me back about lunch and you stood me up twice."

"I have a busy schedule," Rick replied. He moved to stand by Jim and Melinda. "I was at Melinda's house returning some...thing that she'd given me. I was there when she got the call and I told her where to go. Dr. Grogan and I both work at Rockland U, and besides that, we're old friends."

"It was a telephone call?" Jim questioned, shoving his hands into his pockets when it became obvious that the professor would not shake one of them.

"Yeah," Rick said, dragging the words out.

"So you two do know each other," Jim said. "Undoubtedly."

"Yes," Rick replied. "Are these all of your questions? Do we need to get a lawyer over here?"

"No, of course not, you've got me all wrong," Jim apologized, backing up. "Besides, I'm just a paramedic." He glanced at Melinda and she was suddenly acutely aware of what she was, or _wasn't,_ wearing. The coat had become untied while trying to comfort Grogan and now it gaped open to reveal the lace, silk and skin beneath it. She could feel Jim's eyes fall there, caught for a moment, and she slowly pulled the coat around her, somehow not really wanting to.

Jim's eyes returned to her face. Melinda could sense how stiff Rick, beside her, had become and she almost wanted to step on his foot. He'd done a hell of a lot worse.

And better.

She remembered the kiss and closed her eyes. Her headache subsided at the loss of light.

When she opened them, Jim was staring at her, but quickly steered his gaze away from her, removing his hands from his pockets.

She remembered that she, too, had been guilty of not calling Jim back. Ugh, she never wanted to be grouped together with Rick Payne again.

"I guess I'll be going," Jim said. "If you two both deny wanting medical assistance, you should be going too."

"Oh, yeah," Melinda murmured, following Jim out of the house. She found that Rick was following her and whirled around. "What?" She asked, keeping her voice soft so that Jim couldn't hear.

"I could really use a ride home," he said softly.

"Your car is at my house," she replied, feeling Jim's eyes on them. She really didn't want to get in the same car as Rick with Jim watching and she refused to let herself think about why.

"Well, I can't take it anywhere, no keys," he replied.

She shoved her hands into her coat pockets. "Get in," she said and he headed towards the jeep.

She turned to find Jim still watching her, his eyes dark with thought and maybe a touch of something else.

"Thank you," she called, waving to him and hurrying across the lawn so that he didn't think she was trying to initiate a conversation.

"Anytime," he called back.

She felt the fabric hit against her legs and reluctantly got into the driver's seat, closing the door behind her softly instead of slamming it like she wanted to do.

Rick stayed silent for most of the ride home, clutching his forehead and looking out of the window with a look on his face that she couldn't read.

"That was an interesting evening," he finally commented, looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

She couldn't find a response to give him, and instead kept her eyes steadily on the road in front of her.

"If I ask, will you tell me?" There was a surprising vulnerability in his voice, a plea.

"How I knew?" She asked, voice quiet.

"And other things that I can't blame on my being totally and completely sloshed, yes," Rick said.

* * *

He searched her face as she drove.

"I just wish I could know beforehand what your reaction would be," Melinda replied, her voice almost catching.

"It will be..." He started to say something sarcastic but caught the look on her face and the tone of her voice. Oh god. This was ground he didn't like to walk with anyone. "I know it will be a very high level of incredulity but I'll try to keep it within reason."

Melinda was silent again for a long moment. He could see her throat working. "If I'm going to tell you, to _say_ it, I need you to promise me something because this is not a thing that I want widespread."

"Promise you what?" He breathed.

"Not to tell, not to mention me in your classes as a class A delusional freak," Melinda replied, voice bitter.

"I won't," he said immediately. "Never, I promise. I'll cross my heart. Anything."

"Just promise, just that, it's simple," Melinda replied.

"Then I promise you, Melinda Gordon," he said and her fingers tightened on the steering wheel in front of her. "Whatever you tell me...doesn't leave this car unless you tell me it can. Until you give me permission."

Her eyes slipped over to him. "I thought you were never going to see me again," she said, her voice emotionless.

He just shrugged.

"I can see...and speak to..." She pulled up in front of his house. He wondered how she'd known where to go without asking. He saw her eyes glance to the door, as if contemplating kicking him out here and now and never finishing the conversation.

No. He was so close it was orgasmic. "Is this fill in the blank?" He wondered, letting his gaze wander the car.

"The dead," she finished.

It was like a weight lifted off of her. She leaned her head back on her seat, as if giving in, giving over all control.

"You don't mean the Grateful Dead, do you?" He wondered. "Because—" He cut off, just from looking at her again.

"That's how I knew that Dr. Grogan was in trouble," Melinda said, after another long silence. "Martin Schaer appeared to me. He asked me to help her. He told me she was in trouble. He used you to tell me to get to her immediately." She sagged against her seat. "It's his spirit you felt. It was his blood in your mouth. He...he had blood in his mouth when he died, that's why you did then." She looked up at him. "Happy?"

"Oh, I don't know if that's the word right now," Rick replied. He wanted...his mind was screaming for a smart retort but Melinda was so tender right now...he could lose all of this forever.

 _I thought you were never going to see me again._

"Does this happen...a lot?" He amended.

She sighed. "That's not something I want to get into at this time," she replied.

"Or ever?" He questioned.

"You can believe me or not," Melinda shot back, suddenly revived. "Isn't that what you said at my house, or a version of it? I don't care if you believe me. You can find whatever you want to try to explain this to yourself and that's _fine_ with me."

He heard the hurt in her voice, the terror. "If you could hear the argument going on in my mind right now..." He began.

"Is this why you came to my house?" Melinda asked, and the question hung in the air.

"Yes," he settled on and he could tell that Melinda didn't like the answer.

"Did you have to be drunk?"

"Yes," he whispered and she flinched back. "I didn't decide to go until after I'd started drinking."

She clenched her jaw, and her throat worked again as if holding her back. "I want to go home now," she said, her voice defeated.

He wanted to say something else. He stared at her so long but in the end, he slipped from the car and let her drive away.

He checked his watch. It was just after ten.

* * *

Melinda remembered too late about Julie and the dinner out with the Garret's. She panicked on the way home, and when she got to the house, Julie sat on the outside doorstep.

"Oh, god, Julie, I'm so sorry," she called, jumping from the car. "Were you locked out?"

"No, I came outside to wait for you," Julie said and Melinda slowed.

"What? But weren't you worried when I wasn't here?" She asked.

Julie shrugged. "I...I felt like I didn't need to be. Something near me...called me down. The Garrets had already gone home and I just had this sense that you were fine, that you'd be back soon. So I came back outside to wait for you. It's a nice night."

Melinda crumpled beside her chosen daughter, pulling her close. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Where were you?" Julie asked. "If you want to tell me."

Melinda closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of Julie's strawberry shampoo. The childish reminder calmed her.

"Saying goodbye to someone," she said.

And she feared, in her heart, that it might end up being true.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

A/N: Well, now I'm onto listening to Selena Gomez's _Revival_ album, which is so freaking good for writing certain scenes and just kind of kills the effort to write other scenes. It's a coin toss.

* * *

Well, after everything, after another conversation with Martin Schaer late at night, and a daytime talk with Dr. Grogan, Melinda felt that things had turned out well for all and everything was over.

Except for her headaches. She'd thought them to be solely a side affect of Martin Schaer's haunting of her, but now that they were still there and he'd crossed over...she wasn't sure.

And except for Rick Payne. Her heart ached to think that she might never see him again as she locked her shop door behind her that evening, going home to Julie and a dinner of leftover pizza from last night and broccoli soup made in the crockpot. She might even pull out a beer, see if it helped her head.

She thought to last night, and this morning, reflecting that Rick had probably already come and gone for his car. It was a pity. She'd almost come to look forward to seeing to him, to the miraculous way he could untangle even the knottiest problems for her.

He was an amazing man.

She bit back another thought as she drove out of town, heading for her street.

The day was warm. She rolled her windows down and let herself relax, breathing in and out.

Andrea would have dragged her out dancing on a night like this. They would have gotten sloshed and then managed to finagle the one respectable man at the party into driving them home.

She thought of her wonderful, dearly departed friend, who she could never forget.

Another face swam to mind: Delia's. What a wonderful woman, even if she was such a cynic. And Ned...what a son to have. She was pretty sure that she'd have trouble with him eventually. He saw too much, looked too hard.

And sometimes not enough, she chuckled, before turning onto her block and almost slamming on the brakes. The headache, previously a dull ache, now intensified.

Rick's car was still there.

Oh well. She could work around that. He'd just come by during dinner and get it. It didn't matter to her...or did it?

She could see someone sitting on her steps and she knew in an instant that it wasn't Julie.

She pulled into her driveway hesitantly, unbuckling slowly and moving from the car in a fog.

She could see his car keys, prominent in his hand, and her heart skipped a beat so dramatically she pressed a hand to her chest. Was he really here? Ready to stay?

"I came back for my car," he explained as she walked over to him.

"I see you found your keys; what's stopping you?" She wondered, fighting to keep a neutral tone.

He shrugged, flipping the keys in his hands.

"Martin crossed over after speaking to Dr. Grogan, with my help," Melinda told him, sitting down next to him on the steps. The sun warmed her legs and she stole another glance at Rick, sprawled in such a carefree manner. She tucked her legs closer to her body.

"Uh huh," Rick began, looking into the distance.

"He told me something," she began.

Rick nodded. "Just...give me a minute to stop my kneejerk cynic from rearing his ugly head."

She processed this, nodding with him. "Okay."

"Go ahead," he whispered a moment later. "Martin told you...?"

"He was worried about you," Melinda said, tipping her head and remembering. "He doesn't know how you'll manage to be so cynical now that you've been forced to confront your unbelief."

"Nice guy, Martin," Rick chuckled. "He could always challenge you, even from beyond the grave, apparently."

"Well, he seemed honestly concerned, I mean, this whole side of your personality might have to disappear forever," Melinda said enthusiastically, getting way too into the conversation since she still wasn't completely sure if this side of Rick would manage to stay or if his ugly kneejerk cynic would take over.

"I think I'll be able to keep both sides of me around," Rick said softly. "After all, I can now see a lot more of the world than I used to. That just expands my choices."

"That's what I told Martin," she said.

He chuckled with her, a smile playing on his lips. "You know, after..." He shook his head. "No, not going there. Just, during a hard time in my life, I started to...think about things differently. And some of life lost its beauty for me after that. It's like nature was betraying me by still being lovely even though my life was a fucking mess."

Melinda nodded. "Don't I know it."

"You brought a certain amount of that back to me, Melinda Gordon," Rick told her, holding her gaze with an uncharacteristically serious expression on his face. "Not all of it, of course, but a good deal more than a smidgen."

"Always the charmer," she returned, then flinched and pressed a hand to her head.

"Whoa, I thought Martin was over and done with," Rick said. "Is this someone new? Wait a minute, did you collapse in my office that one time because of a ghost?"

"Of course because of a ghost," Melinda said. "Yes, Martin is gone. No, there's no one new. I've just had this nasty headache almost the whole time Martin has been around and I just thought it was because of him, ghosts can do that sometimes, and I was getting everything else. I thought it was a symptom of his fever. Now I'm not so sure."

"Just a headache?" Rick said, his voice sounding oddly relieved. "Well, I can help with that! Here, give me your hand. No, either hand."

"What? Wait, what are you doing?" Melinda said before she finally offered him her right. He took the skin between her forefinger and her thumb in a firm grip, pressing very hard.

"What is this?" She asked.

"Just wait a second," he said. "Is the pain getting better?"

She started to immediately shut him down with an emphatic _no, just now my hand hurts too_ but as he spoke, the pain did indeed abate.

"What is that, magic?" She asked, shocked at how much better she felt.

No, it's acupressure." He met her gaze. "Is it really helping?"

"Yes, it's almost completely...it is completely gone now," Melinda said, staring into his face. Her throat worked; trying to get up courage to say what she wanted to say. _About last night..._

Rick squeezed hard for a moment longer before pulling away. "I guess I am good for something," he said, getting up from the porch steps and shoving his hands in his pockets.

"I never doubted that," Melinda said softly, looking up at him.

"Listen, Melinda, if...when I'm drunk, I do a lot of stupid things," Rick said, looking into the distance.

She felt her heart pang.

"If I did something last night that I would regret, I just want to apologize for it, because then...it doesn't have to change things between us...right?" The light of hope was in his eyes and Melinda suddenly had no idea what to think...

Only that her heart was aching and her head was spinning and she had no idea why he was doing this.

 _No._

 _ **No**_ _._ Her heart beat to the words.

"Of course," she said, standing up. Her heart plummeted to her feet, disappointed beyond reasoning.

He smiled, taking a step back. "I guess I should be going now," he said.

"You should," she whispered. "Get home to your...wife."

He'd already walked away, though, giving her a quick wave and a smile as he got into his car.

She stayed on the porch long after he'd driven away, long after she'd be out of sight in his rearview mirror.

* * *

A/N: There are certain plot points that I'm not going very into, like Ned, but that **doesn't** mean that they're not happening. I'm just not showing them cause I've got enough on my plate.

I wanted to do more but I wanted to give Rick his privacy for this one chapter. Those are thoughts we'll get back to. And then it didn't really jive with the chapter or the episode to have more after that, so I'm leaving this where it came to a natural stop.

The acupressure thing, does it work for headaches? Yes and no. While I'm doing it to myself, it does abate the pain but only while I'm doing it. A more reliable method, for me, IMHE, is chewing two tablespoons of whole flaxseeds for a long time (a least a few minutes) and then the headache will be gone within a few hours. So not immediate but 2000% better for you than tossing back an aspirin or tylenol or whatever.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Tag to 2x12: Dead to Rights. I changed a _lot_ of the episode; Delia has Bob in that, but it just didn't work for this timeline. So I really just took the basic threads from the episode.

* * *

Melinda swallowed as she looked at the sight in front of her: Jim Clancy, stripped to the waist.

"I knew that seeing Jim in the dunk tank would cheer you up," Delia said, nudging her.

"He does this every year?" Melinda asked, unable to take her eyes away from the sight of Jim's dripping torso.

"Every year I've known him," Delia said.

"Wow," Melinda whispered.

"You've been so out of sorts, and Julie too," Delia said, as they started walking across the fairgrounds, keeping step. "I just wanted to cheer you two both up."

"It was a good idea," Melinda said. "I'm going to the hospital later so I needed the extra cheer."

"Hospital?" Delia asked, startled.

"I'm going with a friend who has a therapy dog," Melinda said, minimizing Delia's fears. "She invited me to make the rounds with her today. Sometimes it's really cheerful and fun; everyone loves Bob there and he's really great with kids and, well, everyone. Even people who say they don't like dogs usually end up hugging him. I saw her doing it, and I couldn't help asking to tag along."

"That sounds really nice," Delia admitted. "Definitely a good deed."

"Her husband died there; cancer. It was a long time, and I guess she just got to know the staff there pretty well. Somehow it's still a place of joy for her, a place to remember her husband and make him memory celebrated."

"That's so nice," Delia repeated.

"I should find Julie," Melinda said. "This crowd is a little crazy though. I was so surprised when she wanted to off by herself, I have to say. She's not usually so outgoing, but maybe she finally made some friends."

"That would be so good for her," Delia agreed. "And I should go hunt down Ned. See you later, Melinda."

"See you," Melinda called, tucking her hands deeper in her coat pocket, shivering a little. It was November; Grandview's annual Old Days Fair. It had the usual booths and rides; apparently the firemen always did a dunk tank and Jim had been doing it for the past few years.

She remembered the sight of him rising out of the water, and decided to look for Julie down that way, hurrying through the fair grounds. As she passed the dunk tank, Jim was just being hauled out by his fireman buddies.

"You only get a five minute break, Clancy," one friend warned him jokingly. "This is the most money we've ever raised at this thing for the firehouse."

"Will do," Jim said, taking the offered towel. He looked up just in time to see Melinda passing, and his face smoothed into a grin. "Melinda!"

She paused as he jogged up, wearing only jeans; even his feet were bare.

"You're doing a noble deed," she said. "You've got to be freezing."

"I'm okay," Jim said, sponging off his face some more. "It gets a lot of money for us."

"I can see that," Melinda said. "There's been quite a line all day."

"I noticed that you didn't try," Jim said.

"The line was too long," Melinda hedged.

He smiled. "Okay. So what brings you out here, besides community and a taste for...caramel apples?" He pointed to the bare stick in her hand.

"Guilty," she chuckled. "Actually Julie wanted to go with some friends and I just decided to hang around a little, keep an eye on her. She's such a shy girl, you know."

"Yeah," Jim said. "And it's gotta be hard to have that kind of...stigma, especially when it's undeserved."

"No one wants to be friends with the foster kid," Melinda sighed.

He nodded, seeming to move closer to her, and her breath caught. There was just something about having a very attractive half naked man standing next to you, invading your personal space, that could turn anyone into mush. Utter mush.

Her knees felt wobbly and she almost wanted to reach out and grab ahold of him to keep balance, but...where did one grab?

The rippling pecs and abs? The straining biceps?

"Clancy! Get back here, the line is too long!"

"I guess that's my number," Jim said ruefully. "Um, call me, sometime, Melinda. I've got a few questions I'd like to ask you."

He turned and started to jog away. Her breath again caught, but this time in horror.

She almost called his name, as the letters appeared on his back like they were being carved; the skin changing hideously to accommodate the change.

"What's with this new look of horror? Jim isn't that bad looking; even I can admit that."

She nearly jumped out of her skin, backing into Rick Payne as she did so.

"His back," she stammered, just pointing it out as Jim clambered back into the tank.

"It's a hella fine back," Rick said. "But I have a feeling we're not just admiring Mr. Clancy's shoulders right now."

He smiled at her, the camaraderie in his gaze making her feel warm inside, in a very good way.

This was so new for her. Someone who truly believed in her, especially someone like Rick, who'd formerly been the biggest skeptic and most formidable obstacle in her life.

And now, here he was, hovering at her elbow, still joking, but the past few weeks had proven that he was more than a professed believer at this point. He truly absorbed everything she said, going above and beyond the theoretical call of duty to help her figure out tough ghosts, devouring all the information she gave him unbelievably eagerly.

"There are letters on it," Melinda said softly. "Carved into his back."

Rick's eyebrows raised, and she could feel the shift from joker to professor. "What did they say?"

"Srom itceled," Melinda said.

"Spell it for me," he said immediately, digging a pad of paper out of the breast pocket of his coat.

"That's a nice coat," she said distractedly.

He looked down at the gray wool. "Thanks," he said. "Yours isn't so bad either. In fact it's...rather bewitching."

"You pick such odd words to be compliments," she laughed.

He grinned in return. "You're an odd person," he said simply.

"So does it mean anything or not?" She asked him, after a few minutes went by and he was just staring at the paper.

"I'm not sure," he said. "So it just appeared on Jim's back just now?"

"He was walking away, and it was like someone was carving on him...from the inside," Melinda told him, feeling revulsion at the memory. "It was...not a pretty sight."

"Yeah, it'd be a pity if Jim banged up that fine body," Rick cracked. "Stand in line, Melinda."

"What?" She asked.

"Stand in line to throw something at him so you can tell me if it's still there," Rick said.

She hesitated, not wanting to be turned on anymore than she already had, but moved to the back of the line, Rick going with her.

"Are you in line or not?" A scowling woman asked, staring at Rick.

"Does it bother you if I am?" He questioned.

"Get in order, and don't make it wider, I can't see then," she complained.

"You've already gone twice, Hadley," her friend scolded her.

"That doesn't mean I don't want to see the show," Hadley snapped back.

Rick stifled a laugh, moving to stand behind Melinda, pushed closer to her by a jostling Hadley.

Melinda's attention was taken from Jim in the tank and turned solely to the man standing behind her, solid and friendly and real.

She'd never thought Rick could be such a good...friend. That was what he was. She stole a glance behind her. That was all he'd ever be.

They moved forward slowly; there was a group of teenage girls at the front of the line who were taking selfies in front of the tank after each throw, and they were clogging up the whole works.

Jim was just waiting there patiently, on the seat, smiling as women crowded in front of him and threw baseballs at the tank to try to get the seat to flip him off. You were allowed one try for a dollar; five tries for three dollars.

"So," Rick said. "How many tries will you need?"

He was fishing out his wallet.

"I can pay for it," Melinda protested.

"It's in the pursuit of scientific research; I can cover this," Rick said, spreading a handful of ones in his hands. "Come on. How many tries?"

She licked her lips, considering. "One," she said decisively.

"Really think you can do that?" He chuckled, taking out three ones and folding the rest back into his wallet. "That girl, I know her, she's on a baseball scholarship at Rockland U and she took my class because she thought it was a cake class." He chuckled darkly. "She was wrong."

"Um, your point?" Melinda asked a little pointedly.

"She missed the throw," Rick said. "Admittedly, she was a little distracted since Jim was stretching at the time and her aim faltered."

"I won't be distracted," Melinda assured him.

"That is good news," Rick said slyly. "But I doubt you'll be able to keep that word."

"If I fail, you have to throw one, then," Melinda said. "And you, sir, are no athlete."

"Never underestimate the power of racquetball," Rick cracked. "I'll take it."

It was finally their turn. Jim's eyebrows arched when he saw them together again, but waited patiently as Melinda handed a $1 to Tim Flaherty.

"I bet you can't make it," Rick said again.

"We clarified that," she said, irritably, sizing up the shot and getting ready to let go.

"There's a ghost to your left." The voice was right next to her ear, warming the wind chilled appendage. Melinda's throw took a wild dive and the ball missed the tank by miles.

"Cheater," she hissed at Rick. "You can't even see ghosts! How dare you!"

"Want to try again?" Tim asked Melinda.

"Me first," Rick said smugly, taking a ball and tossing it in his hand while he passed Tim the money. "Keep your eyes on Jim," he reminded Melinda. Without taking a second to size it up, he let the ball fly; it hit its target with unerring precision and Jim plummeted into the water below.

"Just be glad that I didn't cheat," Melinda said, folding her arms.

"Is it still there?" He questioned.

"No," she told him, sighing.

He looked at her downcast face. "Okay, fine, one more on me."

He handed another dollar to Tim and Melinda didn't miss the way that Jim was following their whole exchange.

She took hold of the ball. "I swear, Rick, if you distract me again the next target is _you_."

"I won't," he said, holding his hands up.

She let fly. It hit the target, but almost not hard enough; Jim rocked a little but stayed on the seat. He grinned and gestured for Melinda to try again, but she'd recalled her friend waiting at the hospital and Julie, and turned away.

"So, does it mean anything?" She asked Rick again.

"I'll look into it," he assured her. "Hurrying off somewhere?"

"I'm meeting a friend at the hospital; she volunteers there," Melinda added, stalling any other questions. The day had gotten chillier with a sharp wind rising from the west and Melinda hunkered down in her blue coat.

"You need a scarf," Rick said.

"No, I don't, it's not that cold," Melinda said, searching the crowd as she walked for her foster daughter.

"Looking for someone here?" Rick asked. "I thought you were meeting your friend at the hospital."

She realized, with a start, that she hadn't told him about Julie yet. In the few weeks since he'd known, since she'd told him about her gift, Julie just hadn't come up.

Or maybe Melinda was hiding her on purpose.

The suggestion made her uncomfortable.

"I was here with someone and I just have to tell them that I'm leaving," Melinda said, stepping away from Rick.

She could feel his disappointment that she was pulling away from him again; maybe he could tell that there something she wasn't saying.

"Just one more second," he said, going to one of the craft booths. There was a red wool scarf on top, which he paid for without blinking an eye, jogging back to her side before she could say anything; folding it in half before looping it around her neck and slipping the ends through the loop he'd made.

"You looked cold," he said. "Protect your neck, Melinda. I'll give you a call about this as soon as I've figured it out."

With that, he walked off, turning back into Professor Payne, and not welcoming any questions.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Julie was with Amanda's family.

Melinda's footsteps slowed as she finally located Julie, Amanda and her husband Harry amiably paying for her to try at the dice game.

"Hey," she greeted, shoving her hands into her pockets as she approached.

"That's a nice scarf," Amanda said, smiling at her. "And hi. Julie said you didn't mind her going out with us today."

"No, of course not," Melinda agreed. "You see a lot of her lately. Maybe more than I do."

Amanda laughed. "I wish," she said softly. "She's a good girl. She gets along so well with our boys. I don't know. Makes me wonder, sometimes."

"Wonder what?" Melinda asked.

"I had a daughter," Amanda said slowly, watching Harry help Julie throw the dice, both crowing when they finally rolled a six; six being the prize winning number. "She would have been Julie's age."

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," Melinda whispered. "What...what happened?"

"It's too hard to talk about," Amanda said. "And too hard to remember, sometimes."

"Then I'm sorry," Melinda began, voice a bit fierce, meaning every word. "Truly sorry that this happened to you."

"Yeah," Amanda nodded slowly, as Julie and Harry walked up. "Hey, you won the giant tiger! Awesome."

"And it only took six tries," Harry said, hugging his wife. "Hey, Melinda. Thanks for letting us borrow Julie again."

"No problem," Melinda said. "She's smiling right now. That's enough for me."

Julie came to Melinda's side, slinging an arm around her, as if imitating Harry and his affectionate ways with his family. And that most definitely warmed Melinda's heart.

"Hey, let's go," Melinda said. "Are you ready?"

"Sure," Julie answered. "But...I thought you were going to the hospital"

"Well, I am," Melinda replied.

"I don't really want to go there," Julie admitted.

"I was going to drop you at home," Melinda said, a frown knitting her brow.

"Yeah but…" Julie bit her lip. "Amanda and Harry could."

Melinda watched as Amanda's two sons came running up; Tyler and Adam. Tyler was eleven, and Adam was seven.

"Do you get on with her sons?" Melinda asked softly.

"Yeah, it's weird but I do," Julie said. "I...we laugh at the same things. It's weird."

"Did they offer?" Melinda wondered.

"Yes," Julie replied. "They're going to stay and have dinner at the booths here."

"Then sure," Melinda finally said, feeling an ache in her heart. Julie wasn't even her daughter, not officially. And yet it hurt to see her so strongly attached to this family; to realize that, once again, she wasn't enough.

Though most definitely, Julie deserved every ounce of happiness she could get.

So Melinda took the tiger and walked back to her car, driving to the hospital.

* * *

Sometimes Melinda felt like every time her life got harder, the ghosts did too.

Her rounds with Eve and Bob turned into something entirely different. She'd always met ghosts at the hospital, and now she was fully embroiled in a brain dead man's life.

His wife wanted to take him off of life support. His parents didn't.

And Melinda honestly didn't want any part of it.

She was pulled into people's lives for a reason. She worked to remember that, always worked.

But as she got up off of the floor at her shop, knocked off of her feet by the intensity of her vision, she could barely remember that. Could barely breathe.

Delia was gone for the day; she'd let her friend off to go to dinner with Ned, try to woo the boy back into her good graces.

They had such a rocky relationship. Melinda didn't quite understand all the tension between Delia and her son, but she regretted some of it. She hated seeing any parents that weren't as close to their children as they should have been; it called to mind too many memories of her own childhood.

And it was why she always worked doubly hard on ghost incidents involving children. Because everyone deserved healing from things like that. And everyone needed it, all the more.

She stood there, clinging to herself, when the door to the shop opened and Rick Payne stepped in.

It was near closing time and it was a surprise to get a customer at all this late in the day.

Melinda cleared her throat. "Did you find out what it meant?"

The smile on his face at seeing her faded once he saw the obvious tension in her body and voice. "You okay?" He asked, concern in his voice.

"No," she said simply. "I'm trying to figure out this really nasty case about a guy on life support and his family is warring about whether or not to keep him on, and I don't want to deal with it but I have to." She threw up her hands, feeling close to tears. "And sometimes it's just too much and he's visiting me everywhere and was this freaking sign on Jim's back from him? I don't even know."

She looked at him. "And now you're involved in it and I'm beginning to feel like it was a mistake to tell you."

"Hey," Rick said, holding up his hands.

"No, not like that," Melinda said. "I'm glad I told you. I'm relieved I told you. If I hadn't told you, I would have gone crazy and if I couldn't talk to you right now I'd probably explode from the tension, but these things have a way of overwhelming my life." She swallowed. "And now your life too. Invading every corner of it. Shaking things up. These things that have been happening to me...who says they won't happen to you too?"

"Hey, stop talking like that," Rick said softly.

"Payne…"

"Rick," he said decisively. "Rick, Melinda. Call me Rick."

"Rick," she sighed.

"Have you ever considered that maybe I needed something to shake my life up?" He asked, voice softening. "That maybe I was going crazy from not doing anything. That I was bottling everything up, my whole intelligence, my amazing brain wasting away from the lack of someone like you to make me think."

* * *

His heart was in his throat. He really meant what he say saying. And oh, he wanted to say more.

 _That my heart was slowly calcifying until you came along and made me feel._

"Listen," he said. "Don't worry about it. Don't worry about any of it. I can take care of myself."

"Oh yeah?" Melinda sighed. "What are you doing here? Did you figure it out already?"

"No, I just came to see if you were still wearing that scarf I bought you," he said, folding his arms over his chest.

Her lips twitched. "Really?" She asked, voice tense.

"No, I was driving by and the shop said you were still open and I just couldn't resist," Rick said, telling the whole truth now, so help him God.

"Resist what?" She wondered.

"Coming in to wind you up," Rick said. "And see if you were still wearing that scarf. Speaking of…" He reached out and touched her bare neck. "Why aren't you?"

He wasn't sure what was propelling him at this point. Probably just his usual lack of boundaries; he had a touch of Asperger's, he was fairly certain.

But she looked harried and grumpy and, as earlier, more than slightly bewitching.

And he couldn't help himself. Couldn't keep his hands to himself.

He could feel her pulse under his fingers, pounding away, wondering if this was why someone might become a paramedic because it was intoxicating to feel someone's life force underneath you.

She pulled away from the touch, a dull flush on her cheeks. "I'm inside, why would I wear a scarf?" She mumbled, hurrying away. "And I'm almost closing up."

"Go out for dinner with me," Rick said amiably. "Unless you have something better to do."

She seemed to be thinking. Considering.

"There's something you aren't telling me," Rick said as she thought. "Someone in your life that I'm not aware of. Is there a jealous boyfriend after all?"

Melinda swallowed. "No," she said. "But there is a needy foster kid."

The words were not at all what he was expecting. He couldn't have been more surprised if the child was a blood relation.

"What?" He asked, the words tumbling from his mouth. "What are you, Melinda Gordon?"

"What do you mean?" She asked, not understanding his words at all, or the tone they were said in; completely shock and more than a little bit of awe.

"You're like a character in a book," he said. "Not only do you go into these impossible situations out of the good of your heart, but you take in foster kids? What are you, an angel?"

She looked a little stunned in the face of his unsarcastic awe, and unabashed appreciation.

"Um, no," she managed to say.

"Then again, you might not be the best person to answer that question," Rick murmured. "Because I think that the answer is yes."

He was most definitely crossing boundaries, here and now. Boundaries that he'd sworn he wouldn't after kissing her while drunk. After violating her trust. After being that guy.

But he couldn't help himself. There was something about Melinda Gordon that seemed to bring out the best and worst of him. The extremities.

He wasn't sure if this flirtatious side was his better or worse side though. Not at all.

"So. Do you need to get home or do you want to go out to dinner tonight?" He asked. "I'll pay. I know this Thai place with the best peanut soup."

She bit her lip. "I don't know, honestly," she said, voice shaking a little. "She, um, Julie. That's her name. And she was going out with this family to the carnival. And I don't know how long they'll keep her."

"How long have you had her?" Rick asked.

"Four, no, five, months," Melinda said, her lips pressed tightly together as if suppressing emotion. "The best five months of my life so far. She, um, she's why I first came to see you."

"Oh?" Rick wondered, leaning on the counter that was now separating them. "She's the one with the poltergeist?"

"To say the least," Melinda breathed.

"Why is this the first time that I'm hearing about her?" Rick asked, tilting his head as she looked away from him.

"Because before now I wasn't sure how big a player you were going to be in my life," Melinda finally said. "And now I know."

She picked up her purse. "And yes, Rick, I will go to dinner with you."

He wasn't sure how to take her yes. True, he'd been hoping for a yes. But he also couldn't think of anything that he'd expected less.

"Just let me call her," Melinda said, ducking into the back room.

Rick walked around the store, trying to not overhear as she spoke to her foster daughter. As Melinda walked from the store room, eyes rimmed with red.

She was overwhelmed.

He hated seeing her like this. He hated seeing her like this and he wasn't sure how to make her feel better. And that was what he hated most. He had no idea how to give comfort. That was pretty much last in his arsenal.

"I can't," Melinda said quite simply.

"Okay," Rick said immediately, backing off instead of pushing. Instead of finding out what was troubling her. Because he didn't know how to be anyone's hero, let alone a woman like Melinda Gordon's. "Need help going to get Julie?"

"No," Melinda whispered, pushing past him to open the door to the shop; he took her cue and went outside, watching as she turned out the lights and locked up, her second to last move switching the sign to closed. "But thank you for offering it."

"Anytime," he said immediately. And what was surprising, really surprising about this whole thing, was that he actually meant it.


End file.
